#me! with my stupid ass sore throat headache and nearly fever

[sangrialuvr]

sick as hell

[fluffyllamas-23]

*flops* I’m still laughing at the fact that I told @taylor-tut that this probably wouldn’t be up for a while, but here we are, with this fresh platonic lady friendship whump. 

*

Paisley had thought that life after graduation would be perfect. She had this image in her head of graduating from college, and then immediately landing her dream job.

This isn't the case. 

Instead of landing her dream job, she's still exactly where she was during school, but instead of going to school and working two jobs, she's working three jobs and not going to school.

She's kicking herself for not choosing a major with a bigger job field, instead she chose to be a music major (honestly, what the hell was she thinking? Who let her make this important of an adult decision by herself? Whoever it was deserves to be fired).

She wants to be a music producer, and she really thought she would have been on her way by now, but here she is, four months after graduation with no career (she doesn't even have an interview anywhere). She's been working her ass off, between the coffee shop, clothing store, and reception at a physical therapy practice, she's exhausted and is in desperate need of a break.

The break she needs, comes in the worst way possible. It started off as a pretty minor cold, but of course, she had pushed through it.  Instead of it being something mild like it should have been, it morphed into an awful combination of the flu, strep and bronchitis. Her doctor ordered her to stay in bed as much as possible, because he was worried that the bronchitis was going to turn into pneumonia. She decided to listen, because bronchitis was bad enough, and she was positive that pneumonia would actually kill her.  

It was only day two of this God-awful illness, and she was on the couch underneath a blanket, watching some stupid show she was already sick of.

Daytime television sucks ass and she still has at least another week of this.

It’s a strange feeling to go from working constantly, to not being able to do much of anything, and she kind of hates it.

She isn't sure if she actually hates it, though, because she's miserable and has no energy to do anything but lie on the couch and watch shitty TV.

She glances down at the coffee table, which is littered with the thermometer, a box of tissues, used and crumpled up tissues, cough drops, multiple cups of tea and water, her antibiotics, painkillers, and cold and flu medicine.

Ashton comes out of her room, running around in a panic.

“Where’s the fire?” Paisley croaks, pulling her blanket up to her chin.

“I start work tomorrow and I still have so much shit I have to do. I'm going to be gone all day,” she starts and then pauses when she sees Paisley curled up underneath the blanket, shivering. “Are you sick?”

“A little.”

“Shit, you sound bad. Are-are you okay? Do you need anything? I can-”

“-chill. I already went to the doctor, everything is fine.”

“You went to the doctor? On your own? Are you dying? Is Hell freezing over? Are pigs-”

“-Very funny.”

“Okay, but how long have you been sick?”

“I dunno...like a week and a half or something.”

“...how did I not notice you've been sick for a week and a half?”

“You've been busy. I'm fine, don't be dramatic about it.”

“What did the doctor say?”

Paisley shrugs, averting her gaze and waving Ashton off, “oh...you know.”

“No I don't. That's why I'm asking you.”

“It's the flu...and strep...and...uh...bronchitis.” 

As if on cue, she goes into a coughing fit, and Ashton’s eyes widen in horror.

“Paisley.”

“What?!” Paisley squawks.

“Why do you always push yourself until you're dying? Why are you like this?”

“Go away, you're annoying me,” Paisley grumbles.

Ashton rolls her eyes, “whatever. Okay I'm leaving, feel better. Don't die, okay? You sound horrible.”

“Wow, thanks for this brand new piece of information,” Paisley gripes.

“How are you such a smart ass even when you're on your deathbed?”

“Why are you so dramatic? Oh my God.”

“I'm still mad at you,” Ashton grins, “but I have to go.”

“Good. Go away, leave me alone with my shitty daytime TV.”

As soon as Ashton is gone, Paisley starts coughing again. She's been coughing so much and so hard that her throat feels like it's been ripped to shreds, and she sounds like she's losing her voice.

She doesn't feel any better, her entire body is throbbing with a heavy ache, and she's chilled to the bone. She’s had a fever for nearly a week now, and the last temperature check was reading in at one hundred and one point eight. The fever had drained her, and she feels weak and listless and just...completely sapped of energy. 

Paisley has been sleeping a lot more than normal, and while naps usually make her feel rested and refreshed afterwards, she just feels even more tired and run down each time she wakes back up.

Her throat is bothering her so much that she's avoided eating, and the lack of food is making her lightheaded. She's nearly passed out on three different occasions, which is bad, and if she wasn't so out of it from the fever, she would be more worried.

Her head throbs angrily, the headache has settled itself behind her eyes and in her sinuses, and her whole face and head just feel so heavy.

She can feel the congestion crackling in her lungs with each inhale and chest-rattling coughing fit.

She hates this with every fiber of her being, and she's so mad at herself for letting it get to this point again. She's almost twenty three, she should know better by now.

Her phone rings later that afternoon, forcing her out of yet another restless nap.

She fumbles with it, not wanting to open her eyes, which are already burning from exhaustion.

“Hello?” She rasps.

“Hello!” A voice chirps, “is this Ashton Taylor?”

Paisley rubs a hand over her face, “no, this is Paisley Rhodes, I’m her roommate, um, whom am I speaking with?”

“This is Julia Morris, I'm with Adams and Company. I’ve been trying to reach Ashton, but she isn’t answering her phone. This was the secondary number she listed on her application.”

Paisley rolls her eyes. Ashton is terrible with her phone - half the time she forgets it at home, and when she doesn't forget it, it's either dead or on silent at the bottom of her purse. Either way, she almost never answers it.

“She said she was pretty busy today,” Paisley pulls the phone away from her ear to clear her throat. She grimaces, fuck, that hurts. “Can I take a message?”

“We had told her that she needed to be here at nine tomorrow morning, but we’re going to be training all of our new employees at seven thirty.”

It briefly crosses her mind to get up and grab a pen and paper, but that's too much effort. She’ll just put it in her phone later.

“Seven thirty, got it.”

“Great! Thank you so much, Paisley.”

Cabinets shutting, and someone shuffling around wake Paisley the next morning.

She feels like she's forgetting something, but her head is fuzzy and she's having trouble remembering much of anything.

“Ya think you can be a little louder?” Paisley croaks, her voice muffled by the blankets, “I don't think the people next door heard you.”

“Oops, sorry. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she lies.

“Uh, I call bullshit, but I have to go. I'll see you tonight. Do you want me to pick up dinner or anything on my way home?”

“Uh...maybe some soup?”

“Sore throat?”

“Yeah,” Paisley mumbles.

“Will do,” Ashton nods, “alright, I'm leaving. Feel better, get some sleep.”

Paisley takes her advice, but is woken up by the front door slamming shut loudly.

“PAISLEY RHODES. WHAT THE FUCK?!” Ashton shrieks, storming into the living room.

“What? What happened?” Paisley mumbles, completely disoriented.

Ashton is shaking with anger as she stands in front of Paisley, clenching and unclenching her jaw and glaring at her (very) sick and confused roommate.

“When were you going to tell me I needed to be at work at seven thirty instead of nine?!”

“...Seven...OH.”

“What the fuck?! Do you know how stupid I looked? Do you know how pissed off they are with me?! Paisley, they almost FIRED ME. I had to fucking BEG TO KEEP MY FUCKING JOB. THEY SENT ME HOME. WHAT. THE. FUCK. IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” Ashton screeched, tears filling her eyes. “How could you do this to me?!”

“I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry, Ash, I didn't mean-I'm sorry,” Paisley is sobbing now, tears are blurring her vision. She's so upset that she's hyperventilating, she's sucking in breaths because she can't breathe, and then she's coughing. It’s a horrible, horrible cough, too.  Her lungs are crackling and seizing, like they’re trying to claw their way out of her chest and up her throat. 

Ash’s eyes widen, all the anger disappearing as it's replaced by worry and anxiety.

“Shit. Shit, I’m sorry for yelling, Paisley, breathe,” Ashton instructs, pulling Paisley into a sitting position.

She crouches in front of her, putting a hand on her cheek. She's immediately concerned by the steady, rolling heat that greets her touch. “Hey, hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay, relax, deep breaths.”

Eventually, her breathing goes back to normal, but she's still in tears.

“I'm so sorry, I meant to leave a note...I m-meant to, I really did, b-but I d-don’t feel w-well and was t-too tired to get up, a-and then I f-fell asleep-” she chokes on another sob. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to sc-screw everything up...I d-didn't m-mean t-to, please don't h-hate me. You're all I have left, please don't be mad, I'm so sorry.”

Ashton pulls her into a hug, stroking her hair and rubbing her back as Paisley cries.

“Paisley, it's okay, I'm not mad, it's okay. Please relax, come on, you're okay.”

Her sobs finally begin to die down, and once they stop, she slumps into Ashton, exhausted.

Once she's lying back down, Ashton grabs the thermometer and sticks it in Paisley’s ear.

It beeps in at 103.6.

“Shit,”  Ashton hisses, and grabs the bottle of cold and flu meds, and all but forces it into Paisley. “Swallow this, and for the love of God, don't choke on it.”

Once she's satisfied that Paisley won't choke and die, she grabs a clean dishtowel from the kitchen, wets it and gets a few ice packs out.

Paisley wakes slightly when the dishtowel is on her forehead and the ice packs are on her chest and stomach, but Ashton shushes her.

“Go back to sleep,” she says, letting out a sigh of relief.

Paisley would be okay. She was going to make sure of it.