Im Sickened But Curious Novels & Stories

"I have no idea what that means." "Neither do I." He studied me like I was a book written in a language he almost understood. "Can I ask you something strange?" "You can ask. I might not answer." "When's the last time you were sick?" The question caught me off guard. "What?" "Sick. Flu, cold, fever. When's the last time?"

she asked, her tone shifting to curiosity. Oh no. That was dangerously close to the truth. I bit my lip nervously, twisting a strand of hair around my fingers as I scrambled for another lie. "I was sick..." "Sick?" she inquired, concern deepening her voice. "Yeah... I was sick. I've been feeling under the weather since last night. I couldn’t even take calls, I've just been rolling around in my bed." "That’s... that’s so bad. What happened?" "I don’t know. I think it’s just a stomach bug. Maybe whatever I ate last night didn’t sit well with me." I tried to cover any traces of the lie, desperate to make it sound believable.

I whispered, talking to my reflection in the bathroom glass. ′In Cancun, Asahd said I was feverish. Though I didn’t feel it.′ “It was probably due to climate change?” I muttered to myself. ′I’m not sure. I vomited in the plain. Sushi’s never made me throw up, before.′ “Or the fish wasn’t fresh like Asahd said.” ′I see no other explanation on what’s happening to me. -Go to the hospital. No. I don’t wanna ruin our last days by going to the hospital and maybe discovering that I actually am ill...′

I was also curious about how it felt to mate with an incubus. The doctor was right, I was one nasty bitch of curiosity. My curiosity drove me nuts. "Yes, doctor. You have your answers, I'll meet your demand. When should we do it?" "How about now?" "An impatient one are you, doctor?" Still, I felt curious about how the doctor's vessel could contain the incubus.

That was something I would have to clear up with malcolm. "Bye for now. Ill speak to you later?" She said and before I could say anything else she ended the call. Later that night while I was in malcolm's arms in the tree house, he noticed my mood was off and he asked what was the issue. "Do werewolves get sick?" I asked. "werewolves don't get ill unless they are of age?" He said with furrowed eyebrows. " Why did you ask?" I chewed on my lips as i contemplated whether or not to tell him what the issue was. "Its my bestfriend, she's a werewolf just like you and she reciently got ill."

The kind of look that strips your soul naked and files a complaint. “Well,” she announces, clapping her hands, “you’re getting out of this bed, taking a shower, and getting ready. We’re leaving in thirty.” She gets up and steps carefully between the minefield of pizza boxes, empty ice cream tubs, and scattered clothes on the floor. Some of which can be alive. “I’m still sick,” I protest weakly, flopping back onto the pillows. I am sick. I have the flu. Influenza. At least I’m pretty sure that’s what I have. Or at the very least a cold. Respiratory infection. A nuclear bug. Emotional plague. Dead-heart syndrome. Something. Definitely something.

"What do you like to write?" "I don't know yet. The strange and unusual fascinates me." He pauses. "I read a lot of horror books. Do you like horror?" "Yes." I start to make a joke of his question, something about how close it is to my heart, but a feeling of deja vu sweeps over me. The feeling startles me, for I haven't had it in centuries. The sensation is intense; I put a hand to my head to steady myself, while searching for the source of it. Seymour reaches out to help, and once more I feel the sickness flowing beneath his skin. I am not sure of the nature of his disease, but I have a good idea what it is.

Unintentionally, an amused grin found itself across my face. "Yes, sir?" I came to stand near him and another senior resident; clasping my hands behind me. He pointed to the screen before beginning his annoying routine. "Madam, I think we have encountered a newly discovered illness." I looked away from the stupid feigned serious look on his face to the TV screen where he had pointed. It read—sudden faihtness. I watched it for a moment, in vain attempts to bite down my smile—and very, very much glad for the mask at that moment, before turning back to him; whose face was a mixture of anticipation, curiosity and that irritating lopsided grin.

I sat in the doctor's office, anxiety and anticipation filled the air. The doctor, a kind and gentle soul, listened attentively , a compassionate and knowledgeable individual, listened attentively as I described my symptoms and concerns. He asked me a series of questions, delving into my medical history and the timing of these peculiar symptoms. "Have you been experiencing any changes in your appetite or food preferences?" the doctor inquired, his voice gentle yet probing. I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, I used to love burgers, but now the thought of them makes me nauseous. And I've been feeling incredibly sick in the mornings." I expected.

" Not fully . You're going for a check up and then shopping for tomorrow's event . " " I'm fine . " " I like to be thorough… " I all of the sudden started feeling nauseous and unwell. © #KCMmuoe