Getting worse

She'd been getting visits all day. First, her dad stopped by in the morning. The conversation was short and awkward on both their parts. Later, Jack had visited and that conversation too had been short and awkward, though that was more her fault than his. She really wasn't comfortable with him seeing her sick.

Chris had been worried about the two running into each other. She'd been a little on edge whenever one would visit, expecting the other one to show up but it hadn't happened.

After a while her weariness won over her worry and she started to drift in and out of sleep.

(no subject)

Chris kicks her socks off. Both windows are open and she wore a t-shirt and shorts to bed last night but she still feels too warm. Even though she's half-asleep she realizes that's she running a fever and should still try to stay warm so she keeps the covers over her.

She sighs.

She feels miserable. She's horribly congested in both her chest and head making breathing a little difficult. The rash on her hand hasn't gotten any better, either. She's had to cut her nails down to nubs to keep her from scratching the skin raw.

She doesn't know why she's been sick this long or, more precisely, why it seems to be getting worse.