Sick Bella / M!MC

A wet cough rattled through the room, displacing the bedside table candle flame. Belladonna was a lump under a red velvet comforter, looking pale beneath the thick fabric. The fire was blazing in the hearth, pushing the room to just the other side of sweltering. Yet, Belladonna still shivered. Her eyes were sunk deep into her skull and her lips were bloodless.

“You need to eat,” I told her. I wrung out a rag in the chilled basin of water next to me. A rune stone was carved at the bottom of the bowl, keeping it from heating. Long ago, I had discarded my shirt to try and keep comfortable in the heat. Belladonna had tried to give me an appreciative look but ended up just squinting at me due to the soreness of her eyes.

“I already ate,” she groused. It turned out, Bella was not great at resting.  It was a suspicion I already had but when she became sick, the idea of it was unbearable to her. She suddenly became everything that would hinder her road to healing. Argumentative. Uncomfortable. In a constant state of agitation. Mostly, she used these traits as ways to hide how she was really feeling. But her body gave out on her soon after her cold started to make itself known, and now there was no denying how she felt. Her red hair stuck to her temple in a sweaty mass and I was never more thankful that she couldn’t find the strength to rise and look in her enchanted mirror.  

“You haven’t,” I told her upon her insistence that she had already eaten. “You sipped some blood about nine hours ago and then fell asleep.”

“And?” she practically screeched. “It is sustenance. I put it in my body. Is that not consider food? Or is it simply that it is not up to your satisfaction?” Shifting around, she huffed out a breath. “Why is it so cold in here? Didn’t you put wood on the fire?”

I glanced over at the hearth. Not only were there several logs piled high within the stone confines, but the fireplace itself had been enchanted to keep the flames going no matter what. I could see the heat rolling off of the logs in shifting waves, along with feeling beads of sweat roll down the line of my spine.

“Do you want another blanket?” I asked.

“No, I don’t want another blanket. I want to be able to get up and do my job. You know that someone did this to me. And when I find them, I’m going to– I’m going to – I –” She sneezed loudly, curling in on herself

I waited for her to wipe her eyes, sniffing pathetically as she did so, before addressing her most recent complaint. “Someone made you sick?”

“I have not been sick in nearly two decades,” she protested. “It is clear to me that this is an attempt on my life. A way in which the world is after me. A slow grab for Baronhood that–” Another sneeze interjected her tirade, dismissing anything that could have been considered a point.

Reaching forward, I pushed some of the sweaty red locks out from her eyes, my fingers feeling the dry feverish skin of her forehead.  “Bella, you are sick. It happens. Especially when people overwork themselves.”

“I’m not people.”

“Which is why it has taken two decades for your body to break down.” The water from the rag evaporated from her skin with each touch, forming little sizzling bubbles in the air.  I knew very little about vampires during an illness but couldn’t question any of it now. Belladonna needed my calm more than anything else. Calm and sleep. “You can afford a few days of rest.”

She looked at me through slitted eyes and I had to wonder if she was plotting my demise. While she loved me, there was always that underlying knowledge that we both knew she could kill me and I would simply return. Strength was required to take care of Belladonna Malady. Mental fortitude was a must to take care of her while she was sick.

“This is not about money,” she said slowly. “This is about my title being unseated. Something I would think you would care about, given that you love me.”

I raised a brow to her. She knew she had gone too far with that one, but she was loath to admit it. “Want to think about what you just said?”

“No.”

“You should.” Standing, I set aside the bowl and rag, going to her dresser and pulling out a small knife, I pushed it into my shirt sleeve so she could not see. Her vision had been swimming so much that I doubted she’d really focused on me.

“You cannot be mad about that observation.” Her voice was nasally and her tone thin.  

“I’m not mad.”

“You are mad. Which is a poor thing to do to someone who is sick.”

Sighing, I turned around, walking back to the bed. This time, I wedged myself next to her, gathering her body in my arms. She was far more frail than she should have been. Belladonna was a lot of sharp angles, but she had always felt plush and full in my arms.  

“Stop,” I told her softly, resting my forehead against the back of her head. She shifted against me irritably before curling herself backwards to try and suck some of my heat. “You are a terrible patient, you know that, right?”

“Maybe you are just a terrible caretaker.”

I had the knife in my hand, making a thin line against my wrist. A thin stream of my blood bubbled from my skin, the smell of it hitting the air and perking her up a bit. Reaching around, I placed it against her lips. She snatched at my hand greedily, lapping up the slow trickle of blood with a groan.

“I get it,” I whispered to her as she drank. I held her hair back, keeping it from falling into any of the sticky drops that may have escaped her lips. “But, Bella? Sometimes this just happens. It is not a reflection on you. It is not some plot from the rest of the world to dethrone you. It is just your body’s way of telling you to slow down.” She grunted a little in protest but continued to feed, her tongue working over the wound to open it a bit more. I felt a warm shiver roll down my spine and settle in my belly. In any other situation, this would have been the start of a pleasurable evening.  I didn’t like how small she felt against me.

“And while you are going to apparently fight me every second during this, I’m not going anywhere. You can stop pushing me away because it is not working.” As if to prove a point, she shoved my arm away from her. The dramatic irony was not lost on me.  Curling the blanket up and over the two of us, I held her close.  For the first time since she had taken ill, she was not actively squirming to get away. “Are you going to rest now?” I asked.

I could feel her frown. I could also feel her exhaustion. “I am only giving this twenty-four hours. Which means it only gets about eighteen more hours, given that I’ve already been dealing with this for six.” It had been more than six but I wasn’t going to point that out to her.

“I don’t think that’s how colds wo–”

“If, this cold is not done within that time period, people will start dying. I will hunt down the bastard that did this to me and gut him. And you will help.”

There was no point in arguing. It was mostly hot air, anyway. So, instead, I tried a new tactic. Laying us both down, I pulled the covers up over our heads, making a wall of heat. Then, I rolled her on top of me, cinching the blankets in tight. Reluctantly, she let me.

“We’ll find them,” I said, running a heated hand down her back. “Now get some sleep.”

She melted against me, her eyes already heavy. I could hear the rattle in her lungs.  But, right before she drifted off, she looked up at me. “You’re not a bad caretaker,” she amended.

I leaned forward, kissing her softly. “I know. But you’re still a terrible patient.” 

She ended up falling asleep after rolling her eyes, but there was a smile still on her lips.