"Holy Zachariah!"
"Could you shut up?" I tell my sister. I was still hungover from last night. Leave it to me to consume a whole bottle of vodka.
"I would, but you look like shit ate you up only to spit you out." She said with her hands on her hips.
"Whatever." My voice sounded scratchy even to my ears as I drank my tenth -or is it twelfth?- cup of coffee that morning.
"Deraa. Jesus! It smells like death in here," she throws open the curtains and pain splits my head at the intrusion of light.
"Stop." I call out weakly
"No. And you need to stop drinking this much coffee. What the fuck? You finished the whole brew! I had to go get new powder without my fix. You have any idea how awful it was?"
She was picking up my littered clothes as she spoke, her round hips swaying in that really short shorts. She doesn't even try to be sexy.
"Get the hell out of my room." I would pull the blanket over my head but she had pulled it off the bed. I squint menacingly at her and then bring my cup to my lips. It's empty.
The room is deathly still when I lift my eyes in her direction. She's still coddling my clothes when I spring to my feet, headache suddenly gone.
"Oh no, you don't!"
I'm dragged and thrown to the bed. I catch a glimpse of her back as she sprints ahead of me. Most likely to hide the coffee. I'm quickly on her heels and then we are in the kitchen. She's on the other side of the counter, the Instant Coffee cradled under her armpit.
"Lisa! Drop it!" I say with as much authority as I can muster. She glares at me.
"No. You finished one whole can. What the fuck is wrong with you?"
I dive for her and she dodges, heading to the living room. I follow. It is a merry go round and she's damn fast. Damn it! I work out and I am usually faster than she is. But for some reason, I feel slower and fatigued. Is it the hangover?
I pause and rest on my knees, panting heavily. My eyes blur a little but the most prominent thing is this constant crave I have for coffee. I am a morning coffee person. I love coffee but I seem to be in over my head today. I am never drinking alcohol again.
"Dude. What's up?" She dropped the can and tried to get me to stand up straight. My whole body feels heavy.
"Lisa..." I wheeze, my head pounding hard. The room begins to tilt and I hear Lisa's shouts as the world fades to black.
When I open my eyes, I'm in the hospital. Lisa is by the corner with her phone to her ear. She's now in a pair of black sweatpants and a pink cropped hoodie.
"Lisa." I croak
"She's awake!" She tells whoever is on the other end and presses a button over the bed when she gets to my side; probably signalling the doctor. My throat feels so sore and my whole body hurts like I was smashed to the wall by a jackhammer. I try to sit up but my arms turn to jelly and I'm on my back again.
"Hey! Relax. Mom went to get some clothes. She'll be back soon." The door opens and a doctor walks in with a nurse in tow. The doctor proceeds to do what I assume is a checkup. He asks me a few questions and then says,
"You were diagnosed with Conivy."
I suck in a breath. The news has been on and about the new virus in town. It is not transmittable or deadly but hurts like a mothertrucker. Scientists can't place its origin yet and no one knows how people are contracting it.
"Your body is still under the effects of it and as such, you would need to stay admitted for full treatment. There is no definite hypothesis but we may believe the virus could be a result of chronic food poisoning. So, we are taking a small survey. Do you mind telling us what you ate between last night and this morning?"
I open my mouth to talk, mentally doing a quick rundown,
"Tacos, and then a lot of alcohol."
"That's it?" He asks to which I nod, "okay then. Thank you. The nurse would make sure you are taken care of."
When we are alone, Lisa chuckles and says,
"Leave it to you to get sick on your birthday."
A laugh bubbles out of me just as a sharp pain bursts across my abdomen, causing me to groan. Lisa winces and whispers sorry, amusement still evident in her eyes.
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