Chapter 3: THE FLU

SAGE

What was worse than an annoying customer?

The Flu.

And right now, I was facing both situations.

I coughed up into my napkin, a thick gunky goo that smelled all wrong.

"I want my coffee with extra milk."

I looked up at the cranky shabby dressed woman holding a gun.

"You'll have to pay for an extra scoop ma'am."

She slammed her hand on the counter, making the tip jar rattle. "I've been coming to this dump for five years. You're telling me I have to pay extra for milk?"

I suppressed another cough, my throat burning like I had swallowed glass.

"It's cafe policy, ma'am. I don't make the rules."

"Well, un-make them!"

I sighed at the gun and gave her an extra scoop of milk.

And with a buff, she left.

I did not have the energy for this today.

It's been two weeks since that night, and I still felt sore. It was somewhat uncomfortable moving around.

Marcus had been thrilled and my debt had been cleared, just like he had promised.

But I had been left with more questions than answers. And this stupid flu that wouldn't go away.

"You look like death," Crystal's voice came from behind me.

I turned to find her leaning against the doorway to the back room with arms crossed, her newly purple hair tied up in a messy bun. She had tracked me down to my day job, the rundown café three blocks from my apartment where I worked mornings to supplement the dancing.

"Thanks. That is exactly what every girl wants to hear."

"I'm serious, Sage." She walked over, tapping my forehead. "You've been sick for over a week now. Have you seen a doctor?"

"Can't afford it."

"Bullshit. Marcus cleared your debt. You should have some money now."

I let out a bitter laugh that turned into another coughing fit.

"You think I'm keeping that money? It's going straight to Granny's treatment..."

Crystal's expression softened. "Girl..."

"I'm fine. It's just the flu. It'll pass."

"The flu doesn't usually last two weeks."

"Well, maybe I have a really committed flu."

She didn't laugh. Instead, she reached out and pressed the back of her hand to my forehead, then jerked it away.

"Jesus, you are burning up. When was the last time you ate?"

I tried to remember. Yesterday? The day before? Everything had been a blur of nausea and exhaustion lately.

"I had... coffee?"

"That is not food, Sage."

"It has calories—"

"Come on." She grabbed my arm, already untying my apron. "You are taking a break."

"Crystal, I can't. My shift doesn't end for another three hours."

"I'll cover for you."

"You don't even work here."

"I'll figure it out." She pushed me toward the back room. "Go and sit down before you puke on some customer."

Ugh. I would get fired for that.

I wanted to argue, but another wave of dizziness hit me, and suddenly sitting down sounded really, really good.

I stumbled into the tiny break room and collapsed onto the worn couch. This was getting ridiculous. I had never been sick like this before.

I was trying to sink deeper into the chair, but then all I could hear was the angry tapping of someone's feet against marble.

I forced my head up and saw Mrs. Carlyle storming toward me.

My boss was a wiry old woman with ash-blonde hair pulled into a tight bun and a permanent scowl etched into her face. She had zero tolerance for what she called 'slacking off'.

I tried to stand, pushing myself up on trembling legs.

Bad idea.

The world tilted, and I swayed backward, collapsing into the chair again.

"Hi, Mrs. Carlyle," I managed weakly.

"What," she seethed, "is your weaselly friend doing at my counter? Are you not my employee? Why are you not doing your job?"

I pressed a hand to my forehead, trying to stop the room from spinning

"Ma'am, I feel a little under the weather, and Crystal is just helping out. I just need to rest for a bit. I'm sure in half an hour I'll be fine and back at the counter."

"Half an hour?" Her voice went up an octave. "You think I am paying you to rest?"

"I'm sorry, I just—"

"Get your ass back to that counter right now, or you're fired."

My stomach made an unnatural sound.

Not just from the nausea, though that was definitely getting worse, but from the panic. I couldn't lose this job. I needed every cent.

"Mrs. Carlyle, please," I tried again, attempting to stand. My legs felt like they were made of water. "It's not—I'm not trying to slack off. I just feel so awful, and I can barely stand—"

"I don't care if you can barely stand! You stand anyway, or you find another job!"

She stepped closer, jabbing a bony finger toward the door.

"Now. Get out there. Now."

I tried to push myself up again.

And before I could register what was happening, before I could even think to turn away—

I vomited.

All over Mrs. Carlyle's expensive white dress..

Mrs. Carlyle stood frozen with her arms held out at her sides, her mouth hanging open in absolute horror as chunks of... whatever had been in my stomach... dripped down her front.

"Oh my God," I whispered. "Oh my God, I'm so—"

She screamed.

"GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY CAFÉ RIGHT NOW!"

"Mrs. Carlyle, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"OUT!"

Crystal appeared in the doorway with her eyes wide.

"Sage—"

"I said GET OUT!" Mrs. Carlyle was practically vibrating with rage, vomit still sliding down her dress.

Crystal grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the exit.

"Come on, we are leaving."

"But—"

She didn't want to hear my protest.

I let her drag me out through the back door, my vision blurred with tears I couldn't quite explain. From humiliation? Fear? The fact that I had just lost an income source?

Or maybe just because I felt so goddamn awful.

Crystal shoved me into her car, a beat-up Honda that rattled like it might fall apart any second and climbed into the driver's seat.

"Where are we going?" I mumbled.

"Hospital."

"N-No. Crystal, I can't afford to."

"I don't care." She started the engine, pulling out of the parking lot with more force than necessary. "You just puked on your boss, Sage. This isn't the flu. Something is definitely wrong with you, and we're going to find out what."

I wanted to argue. I really did.

But another wave of nausea hit, and all I could do was lean my head against the window and pray I didn't throw up in her car too.