Being sick was never pleasant, but Elijah had gotten used to it.
Sometimes it came in the bouts of ache that rattled his entire being, and sometimes in merciful traces, directly knocking him out.
This time was the latter.
His body felt heavy, pinned to the bed as if even the air wanted him motionless.
A dull thrum pulsed at the base of his skull. The aftertaste of resentment clung like smoke in his lungs, causing his throat to tighten.
A sudden cough forced him to curl into himself.
He could hear the footsteps rushing to his side and then gentle patting at his back. For a second, he thought he was dreaming.
When had there been someone taking care of him?
It had always been him waking up alone, dragging his aching body out of bed just to choke down pills that burned his throat.
"Hey, take it easy." The worry in the voice was evident.
Slowly, painfully, the coughing fits began to taper off, leaving only shallow wheezes behind.
