Cabin Fever (BXB)

A Mob Boss Talks To Me

The next morning, everything hurts. I sit up and feel like I've been hit by a freaking bus. My head pounds and my body, just, hurts. I'm so tired, and Simon pulls me back down with him, tucking me against his side. Things feel okay. Not right, but okay. Better than they have been. We skip breakfast to sleep for a little while longer.

When I do come down for food, Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins walks on eggshells around me. I'm feeling no better than this morning, but I'm too caught in an exhausted calm to notice them. I get some cereal for the both of us in a half-daze, ignoring Mrs. Hopkins asking how I am this morning, and go back upstairs. Lunch is the same – delayed in the day – but no one seems to be around anymore.

"You sure you don't want me to do food runs?" Simon asks, reaching out for one of the sandwiches I made. They're turkey and cheese with the tiniest bit of mayo for me and butter for him. No vegetables because I don't trust how long the floppy and pale lettuce has been in the refrigerator, and the tomatoes are too small to be cut. Those healthy wavy chips take up the rest of the space on the plate, completing our lunch. Simon sits his plate on his lap, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I can get food if you want. Kind of growing fucking sick of my room, anyway."

"You can if you want," I say, sitting down beside him. His knee knocks against mine, and I look at my plate. "I mean, if you don't want to come down with me, that's fine, too. But if seeing your family's too soon – "

"I can ignore them just fine, Micah," Simon says, leaning forward slightly.

"Still," I start, but I don't know what my point is. The guilty feeling gnaws at me still, even though I know it won't make any difference.

"What?"

I shake my head, humming. I take a bite out of the sandwich.

Simon taps my arm. "What?"

I sigh. "I want to..." I wrinkle my nose, looking at him.

He frowns. "You can't. I know you want to, but you can't."

I grumble. "What if I can convince them?"

"What if they don't think they need it? What then?"

"I don't know," I grunt. "I can be pretty persuasive. Give me 10 minutes and I'll have a pros and cons list – "

"Some people can't be convinced that easily." He knows that's not what I want to hear, and Simon's shoulders roll forward slightly. His fingers tap on his knees.

I start picking my nails. I don't even realize I'm doing it.

Until Simon holds them.

I look at him.

"Micah, I want to do something for you."

"All that toast wasn't enough?"

"No?"

I can't help but blush.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What'd I do?"

"You're just...being sweet. Stop it."

Simon shakes his head. "No." The word is gentle and definitive.

I look at him. "How're you feeling?"

"...fine? I guess?"

"Drowning?"

He shrugs.

"Let me know when it passes, okay? I want to be prepared when it comes next."

"How're you feeling?"