𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 {𝚓𝚓 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚔}

𝚜.𝟷 𝚎𝚙.𝟺 -𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎-

"so I laid back down and wrapped myself up in the sheet / and I must have looked like a ghost 'cause something frightened me / and since then I've been so good at vanishing."

~

Tate had no idea what time it was when she woke up next, but the sun was blaring through the windows of her room at John B's house and it made her head feel like it was imploding in on itself. She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to block out the ongoing pulsing nausea building up in her stomach.

When at last the wave of sickness passed and she managed to prop herself up on one arm, she caught sight of the red lights on the clock by her bed. Six-forty seven. AM or PM, she didn't know. Somewhere in her fever-addled brain, it registered that she should be at work. Mr. Carrera was counting on her and she'd never been late before. She set her hands on the mattress and pushed herself up into a sitting position. She instantly regretted it. She could feel a trickle of sweat run down her back but she shivered, aches and chills spreading through her body. She had to tell Mr. C she wouldn't be able to come in, she insisted to herself. He was counting on her. She took a deep breath and steeled herself before pulling herself the rest of the way out of bed and standing up, her entire body shaking.

It took her a few minutes to find her phone, but as soon as she did, it hit her that the lines were still down. She wouldn't be able to call Mr. C, so she had to tell him in person. It was the logical thing to do. She grappled around for a second to find her shoes and, after struggling to get them on and lace them up, she stumbled out the door and down the street. She knew the summer air was probably sweltering that day, but she shivered nonetheless and wished she'd brought a sweatshirt with her.

The walk to The Wreck felt like it took hours despite it only being a few minutes. The door felt way heavier than usual and Tate struggled to get it open before stumbling into the kitchen. Tina, the cook, turned around from the stove and her eyes instantly grew wide. "Oh, honey, are you okay?" she gushed, hurrying over and pulling out a chair for Tate, who was swaying back and forth treacherously.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Tate mumbled, refusing the seat. "Where's Mr. C?"

Tina, still slack-jawed, looked around in confusion and then gave her head a little shake. "He's outside. Here, take a seat and I'll go get him for you." Tina hurried off and Tate leaned against the counter, still not wanting to sit down.

When Tina reappeared with an anxious looking Mr. Carrera behind her, Tate pushed herself away from the counter and tried to stand up straighter. "Hey, Mr. C," she said, her voice raspy. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm feeling a little under the weather so I don't think I can work today- but if you guys really need the help I can probably make it through a shift-"

"Jesus Christ, Johnson," Mr. Carrera said, hurrying forward and offering her the chair again. "You look terrible- are you okay? You look like you're going to fall over at any second, of course you're not working today."