Feeling Cold And Shaking Uncontrollably Novels & Stories

My body felt strangely numb, with shivers racing through me and a pounding headache from overthinking. "Feeling a bit chilly?" Alaya’s terrified look barely registered with me. Even with her clear fear, I didn’t have the energy to respond. I felt heavy and sluggish, unable to move. The heat in the room was stifling—nearly a hundred degrees! I knew I needed to get up, to stop lying amidst the dirt and sores that clung to me.

Like a bird’s heartbeat—frantic, unsteady, on the verge of collapse. Her wrist was ice-cold. The shivering started in her hands first, a soft, uneven tremor. Then, it spread. Up her arms. Into her shoulders. Her entire body started shaking. Uncontrolled. Violent. Her breath hitched, strangled and uneven, like she was trying to force air through lungs that refused to expand. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. I covered her eyes. Blocked out the world. Blocked out whatever was eating her alive.

Her chained wrist was drawn up toward the post, the slack of the chain pooled on the sheet near her head, and her free arm was wrapped tight around her own body, the hand of it gripping her opposite shoulder as if she were trying to hold two halves of herself together. She was shivering. It was not the small shiver of a person who is merely cold. It was a deep brutal thing, a shaking that came up from somewhere underneath the muscle, that moved through her in long hard waves and rattled her teeth audibly in the silence of the room. Her shoulders jerked with it. Her chained hand trembled against the chain and made the links whisper. Even her breath shook, coming out of her in short uneven pul

At some point in the night the shaking started. Not from cold, not initially. The specific, systemic shaking of a fever arriving through the accumulated damage of days without adequate food, without proper sleep, without the basic conditions that kept a body running at the level it needed to run at to manage the other things being asked of it. The floor was cold and the shaking made the cold worse and the cold made the shaking worse, and the room moved around me in the specific way rooms moved when a fever was doing what fevers did. The door opened.

But I couldn’t stop shaking. The heat came back an hour later. Sudden. Brutal. I threw off the blankets and pressed my face to the cold stone floor. It stopped for a minute, then the cold returned. This wasn’t normal. I knew it wasn’t normal. Omegas got sick, but not like this. Not freezing and burning and vomiting until there was nothing left. What if it was the decree? What if my body was rejecting it? What if... The door opened. I didn’t look up. I was on my knees by the bed, gripping the sheets.

As soon as I close the girls' bedroom door, my body starts to shake. I feel cold, even though it's not at all cold outside. The old woman's words cross my mind. With this much adrenaline running through your body, you'll probably go into shock later. I have to assume what I'm feeling is exactly what she warned me about. Is this what being in shock is? I've never had this happen before. I draw myself a hot bath and climb in to try to warm up. It takes a few minutes, but the shaking finally stops. That's when the memories flood in.

I focused, trying to summon my healing powers. “Come on,” I whispered. The warmth spread up my arms, into my chest. My vision blurred at the edges. The air felt heavy, thick, like I was breathing through smoke. Teal stirred faintly, but I couldn’t focus anymore. My heartbeat raced out of rhythm. Something was wrong. The warmth turned to heat. My whole body started shaking, uncontrollably. I pressed my palm to the floor, trying to steady myself, but the tremor wouldn’t stop.

Then I rush down the hallway and into the bedroom, closing the door behind me and pressing my back to it like it might hold the rest of the world out. The moment I’m alone, the tremors return. My hands are shaking, my chest is heaving, and I can’t seem to get warm, no matter how tightly I curl into myself. I crawl into bed, still soaked and filthy, and pull the blanket up around my shoulders. But the panic doesn’t stop.

Leaving Greta with him and acting like I’m not phased at all. My legs are shaking, my hands are icy cold, and it feels as though I just got hit by a train with the way my emotions are crashing about inside of me. I’m shaking all over and letting all my breath out as I scale the stairs and cling on to the rail so I don’t fall as my body gives up on me.

The room seemed to spin ever so slightly, and my head throbbed in protest. I must have caught a fever, I realized. It explained the bone-deep weariness and the feverish sensation coursing through my body. I gingerly touched my forehead, confirming the telltale signs of an elevated temperature. I was trapped in a relentless battle between chills and sweat, the alternating extremes leaving me both cold and clammy.