Hey guys! Thank you so much for the alerts/subscriptions/reviews for this story. The support is really amazing, and if I could thank you all personally, I would. Please Enjoy the second/last chapter of "Help Me to Help You"...
No Beta Reader, so ignore mistakes if any :)
Warning: OOC'ness and Eli belives in God (hence his 'silent prayer')
Help Me to Help You
"Hey Clare, ready to run some suicide laps? I hear Coach is making us run the full hundred because of the prank that was pulled yesterday by the hockey team," Adam spoke beside me, beginning to jog lightly in place. Even though he was right next to me, I felt like he was miles away.
"I-I'm so excited," I joked, trying to fight the urge of ripping all my clothes off and itching down my entire body.
"Clare? You don't look so good, are you alright?" He asked, stopping his movements to take a look at me.
I swallowed the tightening lump in my throat, hoping the nauseous feeling would pass. My palms, back, and waistline were currently breaking down in an intense sweat. I could feel it dripping down my spine, absorbing in the back of my gym shirt.
"Do you want to sit down, or something?" Adam whispered, and the whistle blew, signaling to pay attention.
Coach Armstrong walked attentively by all of us, narrowing his eyes towards the line of teens before him. My legs were shaking slightly from the pressure of getting this test done, on top of the want to itch the back of my thighs which were covered by the yoga styled cloth.
"Alright class, one hundred laps! Let's go!" The whistle blew twice, and by the time I was halfway across the gym, I stopped. Mr. Armstrong began yelling at me, telling me to keep moving like everyone else-but I couldn't, it hurt; everything itched, burned, and the nausea was unbearable.
My eyes darted around for help, but all I saw was blurred figures and stars before my legs gave out from underneath me...
"I'll stay with her Mrs. Martin, it's not a problem. I'm just glad she's okay. I was so worried when Adam texted me that she fainted during Gym. I apologize though, this is all my fault that it happened," I looked down at the floor, shuffling my feet at the front door.
Helen opened the door wider for me, gesturing for me to walk inside, "Nonsense Eli, Clare has been keeping her illness a secret for a couple of days now. I told her to stay home, but she kept ranting and worrying about this running test she had. The nurse said she had a one hundred and four fever when she collapsed."
"U-Um, no offense, but why didn't you bring her to the hospital?" I asked irritably, rubbing the back of my neck to calm myself down.
"Oh, we can't afford to pay those bills. We had to put down a loan on Jake's garden at school, plus we're putting more money aside to add a new member to this family," I watched in a bit of confusion as she rubbed her hand lightly over her stomach, smiling up at me.
"Besides, you're here to take care of her now, so thank you for that. I have a few errands to run; Jake is out with Katie and Glen is at work so I'll be back around five. Is that okay?" I nodded, muttering a "yeah".
My eyes wandered around the kitchen aimlessly, as I waited for Clare's mother to leave. The second the door shut behind her, I sighed in relief, taking my jacket off.
How could she do this to Clare? She has a dangerously high fever, and she even blacked out during school. And yet, she doesn't want to bring her to the hospital because of finances?
Hell, I'm debating whether to bring her to the hospital myself.
I scanned the contents of the freezer, taking out the four bags of ice. I rolled up my sleeves, heading up the stairs and across the hall from Clare's room; the bathroom.
With much difficulty, I ripped the bags open and watched the ice pile up to the top of the tub. Once it was filled, I quietly made my way into my girlfriends room, the smell nearly knocking me out.
Clare lay on the wooden floor, her heavy eyelids barely opening as I approached her, gently placing my hand over the sweaty shirt wrapped around her body.
"S-Sweetheart it's me...it's Eli. Can you hear me? Are you awake?"
When I had a fever as high as hers I was dellusion, which would explain her awkward position; pressed to the floor like a sticker to a folder. Fevers make your entire body feel like wobbly, weak jello and I knew she was in much discomfort if she was getting what I had nearly a week ago.
Her face was the equivalent color to a tomato, and her arms were coated with light blotches; chickenpox. I groaned, mentally slapping myself for letting her take care of me. I should've forced her to leave and come back when I felt better.
But no...she just had to bat those eyelashes.
"Clare, I'm going to fill up the tub with some water, and you're taking a bath to cool off." Her eyes immediately opened, shaking her head miserably.
"I-I just want the itching feeling to stop," she moaned, tears forming in her eyes.
I grabbed a clean sheet resting on her bedside, and wrapped it around her, saying a silent prayer to God that I wouldn't get infected with this again. She moaned in exhaustion, her curls sticking to her forehead from all the sweat.
"You're going to have to work with me a little Clare," I whimpered, her feet practically dragging in front of me.
When we stepped into the bathroom, her body fidgeted a bit, seeing the ice piled up in the tub.
"I-I don't want to Eli, stop," she begged, her voice small and sounding close to a sob.
"There's no way in hell I'm letting my girlfriend have close to a hundred and five fever. Your body needs to cool down unless your temperature will keep increasing. This is dangerous. If it doesn't go down, then I'll be taking you to the hospital," I warned her, slipping on a fresh pair of oven mitts Cece lent me.
"Can you stand?" I asked, and she shook her head, mumbling words I couldn't comprehend.
Taking care of a sick Clare was harder than I thought, considering the fact that her eyes keep wandering and her fever keeps sparking up; sending her into a different, more painful world.
I watched in amusement as she sat down on the bathroom floor, huddling up next to the toilet. She hugged it, patting the lid comfortingly.
"Nauseous?" I asked, darting across the hall to her room and going through her drawers.
My fingers shook a little at the sight of her bras all alligned in one drawer, next to her panties. A part of me wanted to take a pair; you know, just in case she needed one to change into at my house from getting her so wet to a point where-.
"Stop it," I muttered to myself, closing the dresser and heading back to the bathroom where a delirious Clare laid.
"I'm going to take off your clothes for you, okay? Do you want to keep your uh...undergarments on?" My fingers fumbled with the hem of her shirt, her arms weighing down the fabric as I tried to lift it over her head. Once the shirt was thrown to the corner of the room, she forced a weak smile, before leaning her head against the toilet seat lid lazily.
"Do you feel like you're going to throw up?" I asked questions, but she kept shaking her head up and down, or left to right, with that disheveled expression on her face.
"Bath" she repeated under her breath, her head hanging heavily.
"Alright, let's just get these yoga pants off," I mummbled to myself, knowing talking to Clare or trying to reason with her wasn't an option in her state. I used the mitts to grip her waist, and stand her up on her shaky feet.
"Put your hand on my shirt," I ordered, and she nodded, holding onto my shirt-in which I had another shirt beneath it. Even though the chances of me not getting the chickenpox relapse was slim, I still had a fair chance.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in once I saw the irritated blisters covering her legs.
"I-I'm sorry this happened to you."
My eyes scanned the bathroom for Cece's "Get Better Soon" bag that she had packed for me when I heard Clare was sick. I quickly fetched the small pair of mitts, as Clare held her hands up shakily.
After covering her fingers, which I'm sure was a waste to cover by now since she had successfully tore open nearly all of the blisters; irritating her skin. I pushed down the lump in my throat, and guided her to the bath tub. Her mitt hands gripped onto my arms and a loud squeal echoed the house when her left foot came in contact with the ice.
"Are you insane?" She seethed through her gritted teeth, "I'm not sitting in this! It's way too cold! What kind of drugs were you-."
I watched in worry as her face contorted, her skin becoming a palish-green color.
"Clare, Clare are you okay?" Her lips tightened, and she shook her head. She seemed to have lost her footing in the tub, slipping clumsily into my chest.
The reaction time wasn't enough for me to turn her head before the contents in her stomach coated my pants, and seeped through the fabric. Her bile came quickly after, dripping down my favorite Dead Hand shirt.
"O-Oh God," she shoked out, "E-Eli I ruined your favorite shirt, I-I'm so-."
Clare covered her hand over her mouth, and I took that as a silent signal that she was about to vomit once more. Her face contorted, and since the garbage can was all the way in the opposite corner, I took the closest thing. My hands worked quickly, holding my book bag up to her quivering lips. I rubbed the back of her neck with my mitt, holding back her damp curls as her body jerked into the bag, releasing what looked like yesterdays burger we shared at The Dot.
"I-It's ok, you're fine. It's just my bag, I can get a new one," I assured her, patting her back gently.
Without protesting this time, she lowered herself into the tub filled with slightly warm water and ice cubes.
"Can you hand me a towel, Eli? I-I feel gross...and tired...and nauseous...and disgust-," I cut her off, taking a clean towel and wiping off the excess remains of her stomach from the corner of her lips.
"You might feel that way, but you don't look it," I smirked, resting on my knees beside her.
I used a clean hand towel, and washed her back as she leaned her head on her knees, closing her eyes lightly. She breathed in, taking slow, steady breaths. I hummed a quiet tune, hoping to relax her in a time where all she could probably think about was the ice, freezing, and itching.
"Cold?" I asked, and she nodded, "Chilled to the b-b-bone. How long d-do I have to s-stay in here for?"
My lips tightened as I examined her face, seeing as though the discoloration of dark red had lightened up.
"I have a thermometer," I suggested, "Cece packed it. Let's sit you on the edge of the tub and take it. If it hasn't gone down, then I'll call Bullfrog; he'll have to drive us to the hospital."
"My mom can't afford it, Eli," she whimpered out, and I sent her a glare.
"But we can afford it," I insisted, "And you always come first in the Goldsworthy family."
I smirked in admiration, grabbing Clare's fishy towel. She giggled, hitting my chest with her mitt, knowing she knew what I was laughing to myself about.
"We don't all have skeleton patterned towels mister," she teased, and then muttered an apology about the warm vomit soaking up in my shirt, to my pants. I didn't even want to look at my book bag; just assuming that I would have to burn it later.
When I sat her down on the outer edge of the tub, I bent down, digging through Cece's bag for the thermometer.
"Nice view," My girlfriend teased, as I finally found the stupid thermometer, pulling it out of its case.
Using the balls on my feet, I turned to her, and smirked, "Now bend over and I'll take your temperature."
Her cheeks flushed and I scoffed under my breath, "I'm just kidding. Here, just stay still."
The blisters around the outershell of her ear made my skin crawl. In knowing that I did this to her, guilt was still coming over me. But, all that I could do at this point was try to help her get better.
"One hundred flat," I flashed her a smile, before saying, "Looks like it's going down on its own pace. Let's get you into some fresh clothes and get you to sleep. Your body needs rest."
As Eli flung the blankets onto the floor, and turned up the air conditioner in my room to cool it down, I slowly sank into the mattress. A lining of sweat coated his forehead, and I thanked him once again for his hospitality.
"You look a bit green," he noted, "Feeling nauseous again?"
A smile tugged up on my lips, realizing Eli had changed into a pair of my clothes. The v-neck shirt hugged him tightly, showing off his slightly visible abs. He was wearing lounge shorts, which were mid-thigh.
"You look very...interesting," I noted back, biting back my bottom lip.
"Very funny Edwards. You see, this is what happens when a boyfriend tries to do his job right; he gets hurled on," he teased, taking a seat beside me on the bed. It was shocking to realize that this was the first time he has stopped moving since he walked through my bedroom door five hours ago.
He looked at me strangely, before whispering, "I don't know...you look a little green to me, it's worrying me."
Another wave of nausea came over my stomach, feeling like an ocean wave crashing on a persons body with a surprise attack. I didn't feel the vomit coming up, but the nauseous feeling remained.
"I think I have the perfect remedy," he shot up, walking swiftly down the steps.
I forced my eyelids shut, trying to get rid of this horrid feeling away. But nothing I did, nor said seemed to help relieve this pain.
"Found it!" Eli cheered, holding up a bottle of Ginger Ale.
"I don't like that, so it won't help," I muttered under my breath, my left thigh beginning to have the want to itch once more. I've already had Eli scold me for itching a tiny blister on my pinky, so I don't even want to know what he'll do if I claw at my thigh like a wild animal that was just released from its cage.
"Just because you don't like it," he began, pouring me a glass, "doesn't mean it won't work."
Before I could protest any further, Eli pressed the lining of the glass against my lips, tipping my head back so the liquid could spill down my throat. I grabbed his knee in discomfort, not enjoying the taste of the drink at all.
"You're almost done, just a few more sips." My boyfriend kept encouraging me, while using his other mitt-covered hand to stroke smooth circles over my back.
"All done," I choked out, as he rested the empty glass on my bedside table. He held up his oven mitt, gesturing for a high five.
"You're such a dork," I whispered, and his eyebrows shot up. "Did you just call the handsome, smart, sex monster Elijah Goldsworthy a dork? There's no such thing."
I sniffled, letting the cool air from the vents hit the parts of my skin that were exposed. Since I had shorts and one of my enlarged, pajama shirts on, the amount of chilled air hitting my skin was phenomenal.
He kneeled down beside me, as I turned on my side, grinning at him, "You know...I have to itch my leg really badly but I won't."
"You won't, because you love me and trust me when I say that not itching will be worth it in the end," without warning, Eli pressed his lips to mine, stealing a kiss. I opened my eyes widely, "What're you doing? Now you're going to get sick again with this! We can't both have it-that's not fair to you!"
He cupped my cheek with the shark mitt on his right hand, sliding his tongue through my lips. I mentally thanked the lord of toothbrushes, for I had washed my mouth out before doing this.
When he pulled away, stroking the fin of the shark over my cheek, he whispered honestly, "I don't care if you get sick...I haven't kissed you in three days and it was killing me.
"You're going to get sick though," I retorted, as he slid in behind me, wrapping his arm around my waist.
"When I said I was all in Clare...I meant it. I love you."
"I love you too."
END OF HELP ME TO HELP YOU
Was the ending too cheesy? Review please, let me know :3
Love you guys,