Chapter 20: We Have To Tell Her

I wake up Saturday morning and immediately untangle myself from Aaron, running to my bathroom.

I kneel in front of the toilet as I throw up, unattractive sounds coming from my mouth as I expel the contents of my stomach, which is only the soup from early this morning.

Maybe that was a mistake.

I feel someone walk up behind me and gather my hair into a ponytail, holding my hair back as I continue to throw up.

Once I'm done, I sit back on my heels as Aaron rubs my back, his hand moving in a circle.

"This sucks," I whine, moving to stand up.

I struggle with the simple action, feeling light-headed, and Aaron places his hands under my arms to lift me on to my feet and place me in front of my sink.

I grab my toothbrush, place it under the water, put a strip of toothpaste on it, place it under the water again, and then start brushing my teeth.

Aaron watches me through the mirror, leaning against the doorframe behind me, as I brush my teeth as I think the ABCs slowly––forwards and then backwards––and then I spit into the sink, rinse my mouth and toothbrush, and walk out of the bathroom.

I lay down again, and after Aaron covers me, he feels my forehead, determining if I still have a fever. "You're still a little warm," he mutters. "But I think you'll be fine. Do you have any antibiotics?"

"In the medicine cabinet in the bathroom."

He moves away, goes into my bathroom for a minute or two, and comes back with an Ibuprofen pill and a bottle of liquid Pepto Bismol.

I take the pill, swallowing it without any water, and I groan when Aaron starts to pour the thick, pink liquid into the small measuring cup that was on the lid.

"This is going to help with the nausea, Cassie."

"But it's disgusting."

He continues pouring slowly, ignoring me.

"I'll be fine without it, Aaron."

Ignored.

"Please don't make me take that."

He looks up at me when he's done pouring the right amount and hands the little cup out to me so I can drink it. "Just drink it."

I pout and take the cup, sitting up and swallowing a few times, preparing myself for the feeling of the disgusting liquid going down my throat.

Aaron rolls his eyes. "It won't kill you, Cassie. Drink it."

I take a deep breath, bring the cup to my mouth, and tip my head back, causing the artificially bubblegum flavored liquid from Hell to run down my throat.

I swallow––with difficulty, mind you––and make a sound of disgust as the taste kicks in.

"How do they even think this tastes like bubblegum?"

Aaron laughs. "Would you rather it be grape-flavored?"

I think back to the grape-flavored liquid medicine I used to have to take, and I shudder.

"Exactly," he tells me. "So stop complaining."

Unlike previous Saturdays, I'm not struggling to keep my eyes open, and it's a weird feeling because, normally, I'm dead until around two.

In the afternoon.

That's probably why my sleeping habits are so bad, to be honest.

"What time is it?" I ask Aaron as I lay back on my bed, wanting to go back to sleep even though I'm not tired.

"Just after four."

My eyes widen. "Four? As in, four in the morning, four?"

"I wasn't aware it was this dark at four in the afternoon," he says with an amused look on his face and in his eyes.

I roll my eyes. "Smartass."

Aaron makes a sound of disappointment. "You were doing so well, Cassie. You're lucky you're not feeling well."

I catch on to his meaning pretty quickly, and I curse out loud once I realize this is going to be counted against me.

"You're an ass," I groan.

He laughs and moves towards my balcony doors.

"Wait, where are you going?" I ask him, sitting up in bed so quickly I almost throw up again.

He shoots me a weird look. "Home?"

"Why?" I whine. I've done a lot of whining since he got here. Maybe I am needy. "You have to take care of me."

His weird look transforms back into one of amusement and a smile forms on his face. "You are needy, aren't you?"

I groan, picking a pillow up from my bed and shoving it into my face as I collapse back against my bed again. "Nevermind, just go."

"I didn't quite catch that, Cassie. You're gonna have to speak more clearly."

I groan again, the sound muffled by the pillow.

I feel him jump on my bed, causing it to bounce up and down, and the pillow is ripped away from my face, and I look at Aaron as he speaks.

"Well," he sighs. "If my Cassie wants me to take care of her, then I guess I have to." He gives another dramatic sigh and falls back against my bed, closing his eyes as he swallows.

I'm still caught up on the first part of his sentence so my brain hasn't processed the second part.

My Cassie?

Since when was I his? I was not made aware of this.

I admit some part of me leaps out of happiness at hearing that, but another part of me takes a step back, retreating into myself.

He can't like me.

And I can't like him.

And suddenly, I sit up, moving to the edge of my bed. "You know what, I changed my mind, you can go. I'll be fine."

I stand up and start towards my bathroom as Aaron gets up.

"You sure, Cassie?" he says. "I don't mind staying."

"It's okay," I tell him, avoiding his eyes. "You can go."

I know––even without looking at him––that he's hesitating, not wanting to leave.

But he needs to.

"Okay. Just...call me if you need anything."

I nod, acknowledging his words, and I listen as he opens my balcony door and leaves.

I let out a sigh as I hear my doors close, and turn around to face my closed curtains.

I rush over to them and pull them aside, hoping to catch a glimpse of how Aaron gets from my balcony to his, only to see him smirking at me from where he stands by his balcony doors.

I mouth a curse, and I see him laugh before he shoots me a wave and goes inside his room, closing his own doors behind him.

I'm going to find out how in the exact fuck he does that, even it kills me.

And, knowing me, it probably will kill me because I'll be falling from the second floor of my house.

I close my curtains again and go back to my bed so I can lie down.

I close my eyes and I feel myself start to drift off into sleep when multiple loud barks coming from downstairs causes me to jerk and sit up.

I forgot about my dogs.

What kind of horrible human being does that?

I hope Aaron fed them and gave them water.

I hurry downstairs to see my parents––who look rather hassled––bustling around the kitchen, my dad unlocking the cages, and my mom grabbing the jug of orange juice from the refrigerator.

"Mom," I whisper harshly.

She screams and jumps, dropping the orange juice on the floor––which, thankfully, wasn't open––as she puts a hand to her chest.

Once she sees it's me, she relaxes and places her forearms on the kitchen island, hanging her head.

"Jesus," comes her mutter. "This is why I didn't want kids."

Throughout all of that, my dad was laughing, and he's currently laughing so hard that it doesn't look like he's breathing.

He leans on the counter next to Mom, places a hand on her back, and leans in to place a kiss on her cheeks, still laughing.

Pickles barks at me, and I look down to see him by my side staring up at me. Zeus and Blue are at their water and food bowls.

I lean down and pick Pickles up, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, his fur tickling my nose, as he tries to lick every inch of my face.

Zeus sees me and runs over to me for attention and, after setting Pickles down so he can eat, I grab Zeus' face in my hands.

He jumps on me and I fall backwards––big dogs are great like that. He wiggles around on top of me, barking, and I laugh, smiling up at him.

God, I get attached really easily.

"Cass," my dad says, breathless from his near fatal laughing attack. "Why are you up?"

I manage to push Zeus off of me and stand up, dusting myself off. "I woke up, like, three hours ago and I was really sick, and now I just woke up again."

Mom is walking towards me and feeling my forehead before I even finish my sentence. "Oh no," she says worriedly, her hand on my forehead. "Did you take some Ibuprofen?"

I nod my head, and Mom relaxes the tiniest bit, still worried.

"Go back and lay down, sweetie. We'll finish feeding the dogs. Have you been throwing up?"

"That's why I woke up," I say, shuddering a little as I recall what happened not even fifteen minutes ago.

"Okay. I'll bring you up some cracker in a couple of hours."

"Okay," I say as I turn around, starting to walk back upstairs. "I'll see you guys later."

Mom and Dad remain silent, which is a little weird, so when they start whispering quietly, of course I stopped to listen.

"What did you do that for? We were supposed to tell her about what's happening," comes Dad's troubled whisper.

"She's sick, Bart. Everything is going to change after we tell her, we both know that, and I just wanted to be her mom for a little longer."

I furrow my brows, confused.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

"We're telling her tomorrow, Mandy. No more waiting."

Mom's silent before responding. "Okay. Tomorrow."

They start bustling around the kitchen, and I take that to mean they're not going to be talking any longer, so I move away from the railing and start walking quietly up the stairs.

What do they need to tell me?

It can't be that bad, right?

I'm not going to suddenly stop loving them because they tell me something bad.

Mentally holding myself back from walking back down those stairs and demanding they tell me, I go into my room, closing the door softly behind me.

My parents have never–– ever––kept a secret from me, unless it was about my birthday, or Christmas.

But even the, I always knew what they got me because I eavesdropped.

And I have never heard them sound so worried––so scared––than I have now.