Hello people! You may not recognize me, but some of you may have read another story I wrote under a different name. I have no problems revealing the other name to those who e-mail me and wish to know, except for the person that I'm trying to avoid... yes, may sound mean, but the only reason I set up another account is so I can write my stories and not get picked on by...that person.
ANYwho, this is my second story, and is the result of those damn plot bunnies! I hope you enjoy!Takes place in changed future, right before Chris's 23 birthday. Really, it a tortue-poor-innocent-Chris fic, cause seriously, who DOESN'T read em?
Chris woke up that very early that morning with a churning pain in his stomach, reminding him of the night a few years ago when his friend Eric and swiped a bottle of Vodka from his Mom. But Chris didn't remember going partying last night, or for quite a while actually. He'd learned his lesson.
He turned over on his side with his arms wrapped around his middle, trying to will the pain away; it didn't work. Drawing his knees up, he tried to remember if he'd eaten anything that day that would have made him feel like this. Breakfast, lunch, dinner... nope, nothing.
He took a deep breath, to settle his nauseousness, but it only made it worse. Much worse. Throwing back the covers he got shakily to his feet and, fast as he could, headed for the bathroom, where he was soon violently ill.
10 minutes later, after vowing never EVER to eat anything again, Chris hobbled over to the sink and turned the water on, splashing it in his face, savoring the cold water against his hot skin.
Damn, he thought, leaning on the sink for support, his legs threatening to give out. I'm gonna end up sick on Tuesday. Happy frickin birthday to me.
Chris hated being ill, more then most normal people did. He hated having to rely on his parents or brother, not being able to take care of himself. He'd always been very independent and wilful, though his mother wanted nothing more than to spoil and smother him.
Turning off the tap, Chris turned out the light and headed back to bed, swaying slightely as he went.
"Chris, wake up, or Mom's gonna give your bacon to the cat,"
Chris's only reply was a deep, noncommital groan. Did Wyatt have to be so damned LOUD?
Burrowing himself deeper into his blankets, shivering, Chris tried to drift back to sleep. God, so what if it was November? Did it have to be so damned cold?
"Chris, dude, wake up!" Wyatt's voice was now much closer. Like, right next to his head.
Startled, Chris jerked awake, sitting up in bed. He immediately wished he hadn't, though, as he was suddenly struck by wave after wave of dizziness, making it seem as though the entire room was spinning around him. Clutching his blankets as though to anchor himself to the bed, he cautiosly moved his head in search of his brother.
Wyatt stood a few feet away from Chris's bed, with a look os annoyance at Chris's intent to stay asleep, and amusement at his fright. Little witch, Chris though blythly.
"Whatdyouwant?" Chris mumbled, his head aching as his stomach had done earlier.
"Come on, bro. It's almost ten, and Mom's gonna kick your ass if you don't get downstairs, like, five minutes ago!" he whacked Chris good-naturedly on the head as he orbed out, causing Chris to see stars. Groaning, his muscles aching, he crawled out of bed, and got dressed. It took him much longer then usual, as he had to stop and rest every few minutes and catch his breath.
He was really starting to get worried now. He couldn't remember feeling this sick in a long time, and if history was apt to repeat itself, he'd get worse before he got better...
Or maybe I'm just a wimp, he accused himself as he ran a brush through his thick hair. Probably just coming down with the flu or something. I'll feel better once I eat...
Taking one more moment to rest, Chris made his way down the hall, wavering a bit. One step at a time, he made it down the stairs without falling, though his head throbbed painfully with each step. And he was tired, so tired.
The aroma of his mothers cooking wafting from the kitchen purked him up a bit, as he headed to breakfast.
Dad and Wyatt where already finishing up their food. Wyatt worked at a computer repair shop in a town an hour or so from San Francisco, but usually drove back every other weekend, mostly because he couldn't boil water without burning it, so he got hungry.
Chris, on the other hand, who was a senior in college, was in his element in the kitchen. He'd spent his afternoons as a child with his Mom, baking, and he'd quickly picked it up. My cooking still doesn't compare to Moms, though, he thought as he entered the kitchen.
"Morning Sweerie," Piper called over her shoulder, smiling.
"Mornin..." he responded, poring himself a cup of coffe. Or at least, he TRIED to pour himself a cup of coffe, but his hands where trembling to violently, he could hardly hold on to his cup, and ended up dribbling quite a bit on the counter. Still, he tried to downplay his weakness. He didn't want his family to notice that he was sick. Mom would get all worried and bothered, Ddad would send him straight up to bed and keep him there for a week, and Wyatt would have a grand old time teasing his baby brother.
No, much better to act as though he never felt better.
Making his way over to an empty seat at the table, he sat down gratefully, sipping his coffee.
"Morning Chris," his father said from behind his newspaper. "Sleep well?"
"Uh, yeah, Dad. Great." He lied. After he had gone back to bed, he'd drifted in and out of sleep, hardly getting any rest at all.
"How many eggs do you want Peanut?"
Chris, who had zened out a bit, was startled by his mothers voice so close to him.
"Huh? Uh, oh, just one, thanks," he responded, trying to sound awake and flahing his mother what he thought was a winning smile.
Piper, however, saw right through his cover. Setting Chris's plate down on the counter, she walked back over to him and got down at eye level.
"Are you feeling OK, Sweetie?" she asked, concerned, as she tried to feel his temperature. But Chris moved away from her hand.
"I'm fine Mom, really." he replied, taking another sip of his coffee, most of which ended up on the table.
"Are you sure, hon? You look kinda pale..."
"She's right son." said Leo, who was now looking intently at Chris from accross the table, his paper folded in his lap.
Shit. So much for my cover...
"I told you, I'm fine really. Maybe I just didn't sleep as well as I thought I had."
But there is no use in lying to your mother, and Chris knew that. Putting one hand on his shoulder to keep him from moving away, she pressed her other hand to his forhead.
"Oh my God, Chris!" she yelled, now feeling his cheek. "You're burning up!"
"It's nothing," he insisted, shaking away his mothers hand as he struggled to stand up. "It's probably just a cold...I'm fine, REALLY" and with that he started to walk out of the kitchen, maybe go get some sleep... It was nothing, he kept telling himself, though the throbbing in his head and the wild spinning-twisting-turning of the room around him argued different.
He made it to the doorway without stumbling, but was suddenly overcome with vertigo so intense that he had to hang on to the doorway to keep from falling.
"Chris?" he heard someone behind him say, though they sounded so much farther away then the kitchen.
Letting go of the doorframe, he took four more shaky steps forward before he had to grab hold of the wall for support. He waited a moment for the dizziness to pass, but it didn't, it only got worse, and he realized several thing at that moment...
That he could no longer tell up from down, left from right...
That it was a lot darker inside then it should be at ten a.m...
That someone behind him was shouting his name loudly, but he couldn't bring himself to answer...
That the ground was a lot closer than it had been a minute ago...
Short, but just consider it a Teaser! Please review, you know you wanna!