Page 32 of Marked by the Demigod

Some time in the night, Trixie must've stopped by and left a glass of water for her on the bed, which she gulps gratefully before opening her texts.

TRIXIE (6:31 AM): I already emailed your boss, you're off work today.

KATYA GOVERNMENT (9:01 AM): Group members missed you at the support meeting last night. Everything okay?

Aimes sips at her water, and the feeling of a harsh weight against her chest comes back. She considers going to the doctor but something...something just feels like she shouldn't.

AIMES (9:29 AM): You're the best and I owe you one. Awake now and feeling bleh.

Bleh feels like the most mild way of putting it.

AIMES (9:31 AM): Feeling bad, sorry.

Immediately,

KATYA GOVERNMENT (9:31 AM): Sick bad or weird bad?

Aimes pauses, absentmindedly kneading right where the weight sits behind her rib cage. Of course she would ask that, and there's no answer besides the fact that it is weird, in a sort of distant way that Aimes is groggy enough to realize.

AIMES (9:36 AM): Weird bad. Like something is sitting on my chest and is almost weird to breathe. No fever tho.

KATYA (9:36 AM): Shit.

KATYA (9:37 AM): Coming over.

Aimes leans back against the pillows, and the pillows are wonderful and everything she wants in the world.

AIMES (9:40 AM): I don't wanna get out of bed.

KATYA (9:41 AM): It's okay, I can pick locks.

And that's not comforting, but Aimes just sets her phone down and drifts off for a few seconds. The weight presses her right down into her bed and closes her eyes for her without any effort on her own, dragging her back down.

After what is probably a few minutes, there's a scraping at her front door knob. The mortified part of Aimes tells her she should get up so her neighbors don't see, but all she succeeds in doing is grabbing her bathrobe and shrugging it on over her clothes.

A worrying amount of time later, the door clicks open with only a muffled curse from Katya and...

A flurry of movement, of fabric, and the undeniable sound of a gun ratcheting and the safety clicking off.

"What the hell?" Katya snaps from the other room, her voice sharp and high. "What the hell?"

Aimes blinks up at her ceiling and strongly considers letting Katya deal with whatever it is, before climbing to her feet. "Katya?"

"Here." She snaps out from the other room. "What the hell?"

Holding onto the wall so the weight doesn't drop her down, Aimes shuffles to her door-frame.

Sitting on her couch like he owns it, is Jake. He also looks like shit, his long hair disheveled and his face pale and gray. He doesn't glance at her, just at Katya, who's in impeccable weaver stance with her side pistol trained at his face.

Aimes leans against the door-frame, blinking through the feeling of moving through Jello. "Oh." And she slides down the door-frame until she's sitting on the ground.

"Aimes, is this your 'Jake'?" She holds the gun steady, the white of her eyes visible on all sides.

Jake just looks bored, leaning his head against one hand.

"Uh." Aimes starts. "Uh yeah."

"Jesus Christ." Katya spits out, eyes narrowing. "Iakov," she says, her voice bitter.

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