When Jamie woke up the next morning, he knew his condition had gotten worse.
His head throbbed in slow, nauseating pulses. Every sound felt too loud and too close, like it was drilling straight into his skull. His sheets were damp with sweat, clinging uncomfortably to his skin.
He knew what this was, fever.
He groaned and rolled onto his side, immediately regretting the movement when dizziness slammed into him hard enough to make his stomach flip, he felt like vomiting all the contents in his stomach, even though he hadn't eaten anything that morning.
"Fantastic. My day just got better." he rasped.
He lay there for a long moment, eyes half-lidded, trying to convince himself that if he didn't move, maybe things would get better, but it didn't.
And by afternoon, the fever had spiked.
