Forks

by A.E. Davis

“Amber,” someone called, shaking me. Fingers slid over my throat and a mouth closed over mine. I expected to feel the cold but the lips that were touching mine were warm. So warm and inviting, I tried to get closer. Hot hands came down on my chest, pressing against me over and over. I didn’t fight them they were so warm. “Amber,” he called again, his voice stern… demanding.

  “I’m here,” I tried to say but my voice was trapped behind something cold and wet.

  The heavy hands pressed against me, again and again, pushing against my chest. Something gurgled from deep in my throat and I spit up on the warmth that pressed against me.

  Struggling, I pulled air back into my raw lungs. I heard voices and tried to open my eyes, but I was so tired I couldn’t get them to work. Warmth encircled me and my limp body was lifted up in the air. My eyes fluttered open briefly but I couldn’t see anything but blurred shapes and then the darkness took hold of me once more. This time I went willingly.

  twenty seven

  I opened my eyes to a face peering closely at me. I screamed.

  The face screamed too.

  I pushed back, trying to get away.

  “Amber!” Mom yelled.

  “Mom!” I tried to pull my arms from her grasp. “What are you doing?” I rasped.

  “Thank goodness,” she said, releasing me and pressed the back of her hand to my forehead.

  “Mom!” I jerked away. “Stop!” My throat felt sore.

  “Amber Regina Elisa Davis, sit still and let me check your temperature,” she warned. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail and dark circles hung heavily under her eyes.

  “Why are you checking my temperature?” I asked, my voice came out scratchy against the rawness of my throat.

  “Well, at least your temperature is gone.” She sat back, assessing me. “Thank goodness.”

  “What are you talking about? What fever?”

  She exhaled and pushed a stray lock of hair back. “You’ve been sick.”

  “I have?” I scooted back and winced. “Mom, I’m fine.”

  “Oh really.” She gave me her staple hairy eyeball.

  I moved and a sudden, sharp pain shot through my body.

  “See, you’re not okay.” She gave me an “I told you so” look.

  “I would be if you moved off my legs,” I croaked and reached up to rub my throat. “I need some water.”

  “I have some right here.” She reached over and grabbed a glass with Smurfs and Gargamel and Azrael the cat on it. The one she always used when I was sick. A red and white straw was shoved up to my lips. “Drink,” she instructed in her stern mom voice that said, “don’t mess with me.”

  I took an obligatory sip and leaned back against my pillows.

  She put the glass back on the nightstand and smoothed my hair away from my face. She was freaking me out. “Mom…” I moved and winced. “Why do my knees hurt?” I asked more to myself than to her.

  “I should say they do.” She gave me a reprimanding look.

  “Why’s that?”

  “You fell.”

  “Where?” My brow creased, the action hurt too. “When?” Vaguely I remembered falling but it wasn’t tangible.

  “Amber,” she exhaled. “You’ve been really sick.”

  “I have?”

  “Yes.” She sat back and placed her hands on her lap. “You don’t remember?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. My vision blurred from the action.

  “Take it easy,” she said.

  It was weird. Mom acting all motherly and protective was sending me over the edge. I was the one that usually looked out for her, not the other way around. She hadn’t acted like this since I was in sixth grade and gotten sick at camp with appendicitis.

  “I thought I was going to have to call an ambulance.”

  “Why?” I frowned, trying to remember. “Could you please tell me what you are talking about?”

  “You came back from the hospital with Viktor and went to bed.” She sighed and pulled a pillow into her lap. “Anyway, it was around, I don’t know…I guess four in the morning there was a loud thump. At first, we didn’t think much of it. You’ve dropped things before...,” she reminded me. “Anyway, Ken thought it was a good idea if we checked on you.”

  “Oh—kay,” I said not remembering any of this.

  Ken ran up the stairs and banged on your door but you didn’t answer.” She smoothed a piece of hair away from her face. “I told him not to worry but he wanted to make sure you were all right…so…he tried the door but it was locked.”

  “How did you get inside?”

  “Ken kicked in your door.”

  “He what?” I tried to see my door.

  “Good thing he did,” she said. “He found you lying on your floor completely soaked through and you were burning up.” She shook her head. “Your floor lamp was knocked over and glass was everywhere. He tried to lift you and you threw up on him.”

  “Nooo.” I covered my face in complete humiliation. “I don’t’ remember any of this.” I lowered my hands. “How did I even get on the floor?”

  “Ken thinks you must have tried to get to the bathroom and grabbed hold of your lamp for support but obviously it didn’t work very well.” Her brows lifted to her hairline.

  “God, poor Ken,” I groaned.

  “Poor you,” she soothed. “Did you feel sick when you got home?”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, from going to the hospital with Viktor?”

  It all came back in a wave. Viktor talking to me about his run-in with the bear and then the almost kiss…I think… “Viktor didn’t feel good, but I felt fine.”

  “Well, you both must have picked up a bug from the hospital.” She shivered. “I hate hospitals.”

  “Join the club,” I murmured.

  “Anyway,” she exhaled. “Be sure to thank Ken when you see him.”

  “Is he here?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “He’ll be back later though. He’s bringing you some ginger ale to help settled your stomach.”

  “Wow, okay.” I adjusted. “That’s awfully nice of him.”

  “He was really worried about you.”

  I felt like a jerk for calling him names. I was officially indebted to Ken for like, ever.

  “How long have I been sick?”

  “Just last night and most of today,” she said and smoothed the comforter down. “Now don’t worry about school, I called and told them you were sick.”

  “Oh, okay.” I wondered how Viktor was.

  “I bet you’re hungry,” she said, standing. “I’m going to make you some nice chicken noodle soup.”

  “Mom,” I called. She turned, smiling. She was so pretty. Not like me. I was below average.

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “Thanks Mom.” I smiled. “You’re the best.”

  “You’re the best.” She grinned and for a moment, I was transported back to my childhood before she went all crazy. Maybe, just maybe, Ken was having a good effect on her. I was hopeful for the first time in a long time.

  “I’ll be back soon,” she promised and left the room.

  Covering my face with my arms, I closed my eyes. Funny, I didn’t feel like I had the flu. I rolled on my side. “Ow,” I groaned and sat up. Throwing back the comforter, I lifted out my legs. They were all beat up and so were my feet but they weren’t cut. Turning over my palms, I checked them too. There were scrapes but not cuts.

  “Huh?”

  Nothing made sense.