Page 38 of Strike Zone

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Everything I’ve eaten this past week, I’ve thrown up. Training is on hold, and Gray has been badgering me to go see the doctor. I finally relented when I figured I’m way past a bout of food poisoning. This is some stomach flu on steroids, and at this point, I need relief. I’m miserable, and seeing Linc again makes it worse. He didn’t have to bring me home or walk me to my door. Not after the way I treated him.

Since the night I walked out on Linc, I’ve busied myself with anything and everything to stop from calling him. He wanted more than I could give. This week, I miss him. Lying around in my pajamas and camping out on my bathroom floor, I’ve had way too much time to think, running over that night a million times in my head.

That was the first time I’ve been with a man without a condom and knowing it was a first for him only made it harder to leave. It was selfish of me because I knew it had to be the last time I slept with him, and I couldn’t walk away before experiencing him without barriers— skin to skin—pleasure at its most raw.

Today, I’m out of the house, if only to go to the doctor’s office, but I take the opportunity to focus on the task at hand rather than torturing myself about Linc

“The doctor is ready for you, Miss Lexington.” The receptionist leads me down the hall to an exam room, where everything is so clinical and sterile. “He’ll be right with you.”

“Thank you.”

God, whoever the cleaners are for this place, they went overboard on the chemicals last night. The scent is so strong that my stomach starts churning. There’s a stack of those sick bowls that look like hats sitting on the counter in the corner, so I grab one, just in case I lose the single slice of dry toast I managed to eat before coming here.

When the door opens, my shoulders sag, my relief palpable as my doctor appears. Being an athlete, I’m a frequent flyer in here, and I have a good rapport with him.

“How’s my favorite patient?”

“Hey, doc. I think I’ve got the stomach flu.”

“How long have you been feeling sick?”

“About a week.”

“Any fever or chills?”

“No.”

“Sickness and diarrhea?”

“No, thankfully, I’m not exploding from both ends. Just the vomit comet for me.” He starts tapping away on the keyboard, his brow furrowed as he notes down what I assume is my symptoms.”

“Okay, so the sickness… is it constant?”

“Yes, and my sense of smell is super intense. Everything makes me want to blow chunks, and then whenever I eat something, I can’t keep it down. It’s godawful. Please tell me you can give me something for it.”

“Well, before we do that, let’s run some tests. I’d like to get some bloodwork and a urine sample.”

“We share such a special relationship, you and I.” That gets a smile out of him.

“I want to get you feeling better as quickly as possible. I’d like to have the nurse come in and give you some IV fluids after we get the samples. If you haven’t been able to keep anything down for a week, you’ll be dehydrated. Have you got time?”

“The only plans I have right now are centered around my apartment, and more specifically, my bathroom.”

“Okay, I’ll be back. The nurse will be in shortly, and we’ll get you fixed up.”

“Thanks, doc.” He leaves me to be poked and prodded, drained, and refilled. By the time the nurses are done with me, I actually feel a little better. The fluids have worked wonders, and I’m hoping this will get me over the hump with this flu.

I’ve read every poster and pamphlet in the room by the time my doctor comes back, his face oddly blank—schooled. Shit. What’s wrong with me?

“How are you feeling?”

“A lot better after that IV. Thank you. So, your face has got me a little worried right now. What’s up?”

“I’ve sent your bloodwork to the lab. We’ll get those results in a day or two. Your urine analysis did flag something which I think could explain all your symptoms.”

“O-kay. Let me have it.”

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