*Lena*
“How long–”
“Four days,” Xander said as he sat on the edge of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked absolutely frazzled. His hair, which he normally wore brushed back and neat, was sticking up at odd angles, and his eyes were rimmed by dark circles from lack of sleep.
I’d woken up from my nightmare only to find that what had felt like only moments had been several long, fever-fueled days. I swear I had just closed my eyes to Xander’s voice only an hour ago. The expression on his face told me everything I needed to know, however. He looked too surprised to see me lucid, and even more shocked to hear my voice.
He didn’t look relieved. He looked nervous, and skeptical, his eyes creasing every time I took a ragged breath. My lungs felt like they were on fire. My mouth was dry, and my lips blistered and cracked. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been sick with even a head cold. Whatever this was, well, it had almost killed me.
