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Cleo jolted awake. The nightmare was like a shock to her heart, forcing her up from her fitful slumber. Breathing heavily, she placed a hand to her chest, to ease the pain caused by the terror-inducing flashback, met instead with a coughing fit that left her throat raw and her head sore.
Startled, Cleo sat in bed doing a wellness check on herself. The sheets stuck to her sweaty skin, yet chills racked her body, the room feeling unnaturally cold. Her bones and muscles ached, leaving her feeling physically weak and exhausted. There was also the congestion; she couldn't go more than a few breaths without sniffling.
She must have been asleep a while, the spare room at the Chateau was doused in a golden hue from the setting sun when they returned from their beach day, now she could barely see a thing in the darkness.
Cleo slid her palm down the opposite side of the bed where Pope lay a few hours ago, taking a moment to bask in his lingering scent as she rested her head on the sheets.
She had claimed to be tired after a day spent surfing and swimming and Pope offered to take a nap with her for a couple of hours. It was really a pounding headache Cleo had hoped to sleep away, one that had barely eased up. She must've have been knocked out— in the beginning at least; she didn't even remember Pope leaving her side.
The dizziness that threatened to keep her down was cause for alarm, but Cleo fought her way off the bed and out of the room, finding her friends lazing about around a bonfire outside.
JJ and Kiara sat on a blanket in the grass, passing a blunt between them and conversing quietly. John B was fiddling with Kie's ukulele, pretending to know what he was doing. Sarah was lying in the old hammock, eyes staring into the flames of the fire, looking just about half asleep.
Cleo pushed opened the screen door and stepped out onto the porch, immediately gaining Pope's attention. Her boyfriend, of course had a textbook in hand, studying, but Cleo wasn't sure how much he could actually see under the flickering blaze.
"There she is!" The boisterous guffaw from a high/drunk JJ startled Sarah from her half asleep state. Cleo lost all animosity as JJ pointed towards her and laughed excitedly, each one of the pogues now aware of her presence.
Pope jumped up from his spot on the steps, immediately coming over to Cleo. He stood before her shirtless, wearing nothing but his board shorts, blocking her view of the others. She didn't understand how he wasn't cold.
"Hey."
His book abandoned, Cleo allowed Pope to run his hands down her shoulders, stopping at and holding her forearms with his warm palms. She welcomed his touch with a 'Hmm,' nearly rocking on her feet.
She'd noticed that Pope always needed to be touching her. For all the books he read and words he knew, Pope was not often the best at articulating how he felt. Instead, everything he wanted to say but couldn't was communicated through caressing touches, forehead kisses and the want for constant hand holding. It was a lot to adjust to, especially in front of other people, but Cleo appreciated the reminders that he wasn't sick of her yet.
"You okay? You're like sweating." There was no mistaking the concern in Pope's tone as he brought a hand to her forehead, wiping at her perspiration.
Cleo was confused. The gentle wind blowing against them brought her a bitter cold— how could she be sweating while freezing the death?
Instead of giving Pope a proper answer, Cleo shrugged, feeling somewhat hazy and not actually present in the moment.
"How long was I sleeping?"
She watched Pope's eyes glance behind her, reading the wall clock through the screen door, "Well it's just past 10, so like, almost 3 hours?"
"Pope stop hogging her. Cleo, we hid a couple slices of pizza away for you— before JJ could get his paws on them."
Pope shifted, allowing her to see Sarah in the hammock; JJ couldn't even find it in himself to be offended.
"Thanks, girl. Think I'm gonna take it to-go, though. "
She should be hungry. Cleo along with the other pogues had skipped lunch in favour of beers and huge waves, but the idea of food was no way near appealing to her right now.
"You're not hungry?" She was drowning in his concern. Cleo could tell Pope already felt like something was wrong with her. His own worry was the discomfort pricking at her skin.
"Just wanna head back and take a shower, get this sand off my skin." It was partly true. She had to reel in it, act as normally she as she could while feeling dead on her feet.
Pope grabbed a random shirt off the porch railing and threw it over his head, not bothering to check if it was his, JJ's of John B's. He begun searching for his keys.
"You guys leaving already? No faiirrrr," Kiara whined, falling back onto JJ. She was clearly high.
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The drive from the chateau to the Heywards' home was just under 15 minutes. It was apparently enough time for Cleo to completely fall asleep again. She woke up suddenly to Pope gently shaking her shoulders. He stood at her side of the truck, leaned over her, hand venturing to unbuckle her seatbelt.
"Hey, you were knocked out."
Confusion had Cleo forgetting to keep her act up for a moment. The exterior lights to their home were briefly blinding and worsened her headache. She squinted through the pain, shifting in her seat.
"I'm sorry."
"For what, C?"
Moving the belt out of the way, Pope took hold of both sides of her face, pressing a brief kiss to her forehead. Cleo, still trying to wake herself up, missed the way his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pointed down.
"Cleo, you're burning up."
She wouldn't dwell on the worry in his tone. She couldn't afford to, not with the dangerous stirring in the pit of her stomach, sickness threatening to arise.
Cleo shuffled out of the truck, gesturing for Pope to get out of the way. She shouldered her backpack as the slam of the door pierced the quiet night air.
"Old truck got a piece of shit AC, of course I'm hot," Cleo countered just as another chill skated across her skin.
"You know that's not what I meant."
Before he could question her further; see through her ruse, Cleo was already headed towards the stairs leading up to her room, throwing a mumbled goodnight over her shoulder.
She barely made it to the bathroom, falling to her knees just as the first wave of nausea completely upended the sparse contents of her stomach.
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Her shower had drawled on. Sand stuck to skin and hair stubbornly, forcing Cleo to say standing longer than felt possible. She was ready to fall into bed and sleep whatever this sickness was away for as long as she needed, but the black spots that almost completely took over her vision as she stepped out of the shower were enough to convince her that she should probably get something to eat.
Cautiously, she took slow steps through the Heywards' living room, hand pressed against a wall at all times for stability. The gentle glow of the TV stretched towards the pullout where Pope slept at night; the volume of some anime low as to not disturb his parents.
Cleo assumed he had chosen to take his shower outside (it had happened before when they both needed to use the bathroom at the same time) and was still there, so it was hard not to flinch when she almost ran into the boy as she rounded the corner heading into the kitchen.
Pope was completely focused on the cup noodles in his hand, careful not to spill it. He glanced up at once, seemingly surprised to see her.
"Cleo?"
She didn't mean to ignore him. But she could feel another dizzy spell creeping up on her, she could feel her head spinning away, her weak body with a mind of it's own. Cleo stumbled passed him, opening the fridge in search for her pizza.
If Pope wasn't concerned before, the sight of his girlfriend, unstable on her feet was enough to rouse a deep worry.
"Cleo you don't look so good. Maybe you should sit down."
She spotted her saving grace, perhaps reaching into the refrigerator a tad to quickly for the slices wrapped in foil. Her movements were more frantic now. Unfocused and unsteady. Still, Cleo maintained that she was fine.
"I'm okay, Pope. Leave me alone."
He ignored her.
"Stole this from my dad's store," he raised the styrofoam cup slightly, "Figured you'd prefer it to my actual attempt of making soup." She couldn't see him, facing the other direction, but Pope began to walk towards her, taking slow, approaching steps.
Cleo faltered slightly, pausing, before unwrapping the foil as quickly as she could manage.
"Don't you have a test study for? What about your grades? Your scholarship."
It was meant to be said with her usual conviction. A scolding tone that always kept Pope in check. Instead her voice was hoarse, throat raw from throwing up and coughing.
"Could you stop putting everyone before yourself for once and let me take care of you?" He placed the cup on the counter beside him, not hiding the fact that he was right behind her now.
Cleo opened a cabinet above, reaching for a plate, "Pope I told you, I'm o–"
But her dizziness had won. The only warning Pope received was the sudden slam of Cleo's hand as it dropped against the countertops, her knees finally giving out just a second later. Still he was right there, holding onto her waist and steadying her against his chest when she couldn't hold out any longer.
"Cleo, hey–"
Cleo's head fell back onto his shoulder, eyes fluttering as a faint whimper left her lips. Pope adjusted his hold on her, struggling to keep them both off the floor.
He tapped against her cheek lightly, trying to keep her from closing her eyes completely. His worry had stretched and bended into a desperate fear.
"You're not okay, baby."
He'd gotten her to the couch, slumped against one side as she tried to recuperate from her fainting spell. Pope bent above her and pushed wisps of hair away from her face, already sticky with sweat. She was conscious, thankfully, but the dazed look in her eyes told him he had a limited amount of time to help her before they were in a completely different situation.
"I'll be back, okay? Keep those eyes open for me? Just give me a second." Cleo offered a whisper of a nod, unable to protest against help any longer.
It couldn't have been longer than a minute before Pope was back. He'd quickly arranged a small tray holding the cup noodles, a water bottle, some medication and a box of tissues. He perched himself on the coffee table, opening the bottle.
"Here, you need lots of fluids."
Though she felt that the spell was over, Pope still held the water bottle firmly beneath her own hands, only pulling away after he felt she'd taken enough sips and she nodded for him to ease up.
Pope wasn't the best at staying calm and collected during stressful moments. He knew how to prevent and prepare for any disaster that could occur during a situation, but once the time actually came the panic seized his thoughts and froze his muscles; he suddenly had no idea what to do.
But this was Cleo. The part of him that was level headed when he couldn't be. He would be the strong one this time.
Pope took the Cup noodles next, noting the apprehensive glare Cleo was already giving the poor container.
"I know this is the last thing you want right now, but I need you to take a few bites in order to take your meds."
He could see the protest rising within her. Cleo attempted to look stronger, less sick than she really was. She straighten her posture on the couch and tried to clear the soreness from her throat.
"I'm good now, Pope. The water helped." She couldn't even convince herself. A sudden coughing fit racked her body, her head pounding and chest aching. She sniffed, letting out and involuntary groan.
"Cleo." Pope's voice was unusually stern, enough so that she briefly froze, captivated by the look in his eyes. No arguement, they said.
It was then that all the fight completely left her body. Radiating out of her like the heat from her fever. Humiliation remained though. Embarrassment that she couldn't take care of herself; that Pope had to be burdened with the task instead.
When Cleo had taken enough bites to satisfy Pope, and the medication was now in her system to work its magic, the couple found themself in silence. Cleo's head was in Pope's lap, her eyes fighting a war against the gentle stokes of her hair. She was facing the TV, away from his torso, but their hands were intertwined at her waist, Pope drawing circles on her skin with his thumb.
Switching from Anime to Spongebob Squarepants was part of Pope's ploy to distract Cleo from her sickly feelings. It was her comfort show. He'd caught her transfixed on the screen once when she was supposed to be looking for Hurricane updates on the news channels, and learnt soon after that the cartoon ensemble reminded her of a brief but peaceful period in her childhood. Before it was taken away from her. Now, Pope dedicated whatever time he could to healing both Cleo and her nner child.
Pope thought she was falling asleep, but without any indication, Cleo began talking, eyes still focused on the yellow sponge like her words were meant for his ears instead of Pope's.
"Used to dread getting sick, you know?" Cleo confessed, her tone so soft Pope had to strain to hear her over the dramatic screams of Mrs. Puff.
He hummed noncommittally.
"Meant I couldn't be useful to them. Couldn't make their money." It was hard not to react. His hands briefly stilled in her hair at those words.
It was not often that Cleo was vulnerable, Pope had come to understand that it was a genuine fear of hers, but he did know any drastic reactions could startle Cleo back into her shell, so he continued playing with her curls, letting her speak.
"Don't know what I was so worried about," Cleo let out a pathetic chuckle, leading to her coughing a bit, "They always found other things to get mad about. Other things to punish me for."
"Anyway. I was young and stupid, barely understood how this world worked. But being sick? It meant I was young, stupid and now defenseless." Cleo paused, allowing a moment to pass, hoping it was enough to convey to Pope how scary this was for her, letting someone else be in charge of her wellbeing.
"Can't survive defenseless."
Sensing she was done, Pope tugged on the hand she was holding and Cleo shifted onto her back, their dark brown eyes finding each other like magnets.
Pope's hand found the side of her face, heated skin still feverish, and talked slowly, so that his very words could be heard and felt. So that she would never forget them.
"I'm here now. Okay? And I plan on sticking around for a while if you'll have me. You can be defenseless with me, Cleo. Let me do the fighting for once."
That needed no response. Instead Cleo let Pope caress her skin, thumb stroking against her cheek as he wished his touch would be enough to take all her pain away.