Look Back at Me (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 1)

Not Your Bridgerton Kind of Burning

2/2 <3

K. xx

***

The next morning she woke up, feeling rather odd. She climbed from under her duvet, and suddenly the room spun around her. She grabbed the corner of the headboard and steadied herself. It took her a few seconds to understand that she was probably running an extremely high fever. She hadn't been ill for more than seven years, so she hadn't immediately recognised the strange ringing in her ears and the overall sensation of being properly sloshed. Her throat felt normal, and there was no rhinitis. She just felt some sort of nervous energy run through her, as if buzzing under her skin, and all colours were jarringly bright. She realised she'd gotten Elisa Short's flu - or to be more precise, Rhys' flu.

She carefully sat down on her bed and picked up her mobile. She dialled and heard Fenton's phone ring two rooms away from her. She suddenly remembered it was five o'clock in the morning, but for some reason it seemed nothing but funny, and she snorted.

His phone rang for a few seconds, and then she heard his disgruntled raspy, "Yes?" in her mobile.

"Alan?" Viola asked. Who else do you think it would be, Viola? Considering the appreciative looks you've caught the good doctor throw at your arse, there is hardly a chance there's another male in his bed. Viola snorted again.

"What– Viola? What the sodding hell? Are you–"

She assumed the doctor sat up, considering a throaty groan, and Viola had to bite into her bottom lip to suppress inappropriate laughter.

"Alan, I'm sick," she said. "I think I have the flu. And– Well, unless you've redecorated my room overnight, I might be hallucinating. I see– flowers."

"Flowers?" he repeated slowly. "Wait– you've caught the flu that's been going around."

"Yep," Viola said. She knew her merriment wasn't exactly her normal disposition, but she just couldn't find anything wrong with it! "And there are flowers on my walls! Like wallpaper, but 3D, you know?"

"Do you have a thermometer in your room, Viola?" Fenton asked.

She could hear he'd gotten up and was now moving around his bedroom. He seemed to be pressing his phone to his shoulder with his cheek, because his voice droning his instructions seemed funny - he was probably pulling on his trousers - and then he'd dropped the phone on the floor. She heard a muffled swearing, and she burst into laughter, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Alan– Alan– Alan!" Viola finally managed to interrupt Fenton. "You need to take care of my patients."

"You are now my patient, Viola," he grumbled.

"Except you still hadn't had this flu, and apparently the shot does nothing against it," Viola pointed out. She rubbed her bare soles to the cold floor. They felt almost itchy - and then she realised her whole body felt unpleasantly tingling, and she dove under her duvet. "Just pack me all the meds and leave them under my door with a tray, please."

"Viola–" Fenton was clearly going to argue.

"Alan, please, we can't have both doctors in the surgery drop at the same time. What will the public say?" she said - and a daft snort finally escaped her.

"Who gives the sod," he muttered, and then finally agreed to make her a 'goodie bag' of pills.

Viola had enough energy only to shortly thank him and to hang up.

***

She wasn't sure how long she was asleep. She thrashed, a half-sob, half-moan bubbled in her throat, and she jerked the duvet off her burning body. The remnants of her nightmare lingered, sticky and repulsive, like spider web one accidentally catches on one's face in a dark attic. She wanted to get up to splash cold water on her cheeks - and to pick up whatever pharmaceuticals Fenton had left for her - but it felt as if she couldn't remember how to move any of her limbs. She stared at the ceiling, and then squeezed her eyes. Surely, there were no blue and yellow pansies there. Suddenly, she felt endlessly sorry for herself. See, Viola, that's what happens when you choose to be all by yourself - you end up all by yourself.