knight [sick] (that's a grammar joke)

Through swampy stickiness BC’s hand reaches in searching for me. My ears raw like opening  mining pits.  
“Misty, you are on fire.”  
His hand moves from my arm to my neck to my forehead.  My eyes are scratchy, my throat a beehive, my chest a marsh.  With sickness comes anxiety.  Who will watch Beach for me?  School? Work? BC can’t get sick we will starve. Raspberry bushes. Dogs. A car stuck in the mud.  
“You need to take something.”  
I respond by suddenly sitting straight up from sleep.  I cough and blood trickles from my nose.  I stare down at the corner of bed wondering.  The conclusion: “My head really hurts.” My voice is less than a raspy whisper. 

I feel his weight leave the bed when he returns he carries water and 2 white pills.  
“I feel like I am stuck in a sleeping bag inside a tent but it's hot.” 
Overdoses.  Dead chickens.  Twisted old trees. Glasses. Hotel rooms.  Car rides. 
“It is amazing how fast that works” His voice breaks into my sticky brain as thick chills run up my body.  

My doctor is out of town and not due back until at earliest Thursday.  If I'm not better by then it has already been agreed to contact him...
The desert. A rocky path.  The smell of juniper trees.  The edge of an abandoned mine. 

And then it is morning.