Chapter 8: Fever Brain – Ice Elemental

Everything seemed unreal, like a nightmare I couldn’t escape.

My head throbbed, and my throat felt like sandpaper. The leather of the crappy couch stuck to my sweaty skin as I shifted back and forth. A small moan escaped my lips, and I regretted it instantly. It was a sign of weakness, and they capitalized. 

Whenever I had a fever, I’d always imagined tiny fire wreathed imps digging into my brain. Petite, portly things, with pickaxes that screamed and shouted as they excavated my self-doubt and fears. 

They were so loud that the explosions echoing from the television didn’t drown them out. I would have cried, but I couldn’t. The demons had evaporated all the moisture in my body, and prevented me from getting more.

So I lay there and tried to tune out their high-pitched ramblings. I closed my eyes against the bright light that surrounded me, but that just gave them another avenue of attack. Visions of people and places, horrible lies that felt so true. 

My eyes snapped open. I didn’t need to see that. I tried counting the cracks in the walls instead, and they counted my failures alongside me. Failed job interviews, past girlfriends, anything and everything they could find with their digging. It hurt, everything hurt so much. 

I heard footsteps, quick but soft. Bare feet on carpet that were running? They differed from the ones in my head. Those let out enormous booms with each step, causing my head to throb. 

Suddenly, the temperature dropped, and I sighed. Bliss!  

Momentarily, the imps shrank before they rallied their forces and came back strong. With an increased pace, they did their best to ward off the chill with more memories and insults. 

A hand touched my forehead, cold as ice. It hurt too, but an unfamiliar pain. I could sense a chill radiate through my body, and the voices subsided. 

With an effort, I cracked one eye open to stare up at my rescuer. 

They had sharp yet delicate features with two piercing blue-gray eyes. I wanted to pull away from those frozen lakes. I knew if I stared into them too long, I would drown in a chilling darkness, lost forever. 

“You should have said something.” 

I flinched at the crack of her voice. My gaze focused on her prominent cheekbones as I tried to parse what the words meant. She sounded offended? I had done something wrong. What it was, I wasn’t sure. Had the voices said something?

“Sorry.” 

It took effort to get my throat unglued long enough to say it. 

The voices returned with a vengeance, screaming that I was a pushover. Weak. Worthless. 

“You have a fever.” 

Her voice was gentle, and I moaned as the hand retracted from my forehead. Thankfully, its retreat was brief. It returned to my cheeks, then my shoulders, until it rested along my neck. 

I let myself relax, enjoying her icy embrace. My mind filled with images of her laying on me. Her cold skin against my overheated form. Was that arousal? 

I heard her sigh, and it drove all thoughts from my head. 

“Sorry.”

I hoped she hadn’t seen what I had been imagining.

“It’s not your fault. Probably. Can you stand?” 

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I tried, but the couch acted as though it was made of webbing, too strong for my feeble muscles. The sound of tearing occurred on each attempt, and I wondered if I had lost all my skin.

Arms encircled my shoulders, and soon I found myself in a seated position. My head swam. My stomach churned like I was going to vomit. I heard the sounds of howling snow and cracking ice as the ambient temperature dropped more. 

She was using her powers. That was always fun. I loved watching her work.  

I felt guilty as I vomited into the newly formed bucket she shoved into my arms. Her sculptures were expensive. Would I miss meals, paying for this one? Oh god, what about rent? 

“I don’t have any money.” 

She would yell at me, I was sure. Like the voices had. 

“It’s not... Forget it. You don’t know what’s going on, do you?” 

“True?”

She sighed again, and I watched her blurred form move around the living room, cleaning up the space. 

“Come on, time to stand. We’re going to your room. I can cool it down easier than in the living room, anyway. You won’t puke again, will you?” 

I took a moment to consider before I slowly shook my head. I didn’t let the handle of the bucket go completely, however. It bumped against my leg as I rose to my feet and leaned on her shoulder. So cold.

She smelled good, like crisp winter air. I told her, which got a grunt. 

“You mostly smell like puke. But thanks, I guess?” 

The walk lasted for five minutes or five years, or possibly an eternity. I stopped to rest against a few walls as my head spun. But Mr Bucket didn’t need to help me. 

A door opened, and I felt my foot snag on something hard. Hands shoved me as I fell, and I grunted as I landed on my bed.

With effort, I pulled up my legs until I was properly on the bed. I debated getting under the covers, but didn’t have the energy. The ticking of the grandfather clock I had rescued was loud, but the steady tick, tick, tick, was a straightforward thing to focus on. I felt the bed groan as someone laid next to me. A soft pressure against my back, as hair tickled my neck. 

The voices died down as she hummed. A Christmas melody, though it was the wrong time of year for it. 

As the song ended, she whispered in my ear.

“Sleep. I’ll keep you safe.” 

And I closed my aching eyes and snuggled deep into her embrace. 

My final thought, before the darkness overcame me, was is this a nightmare?

If so, I wanted more of them.

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