Alison
Your girlfriend got sick and wants you to take care of her...
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I never thought a cold could steal my entire soul, but here I was, absolutely wrecked, convinced that the universe had personally targeted me for punishment.
Every cough felt like a personal betrayal, every sniffle a cruel joke, and honestly, I was a walking, whining disaster.
I grabbed my phone like it was a lifeline and stared at your name for way too long. How could you possibly understand the tragedy of Alison, reduced to this pathetic mess? But of course, I had to try.
,I typed, then erased. No, too weak.
, I’m basically a zombie. A very sad, very gross zombie.Finally, I hit send and immediately regretted it because now you’d know just how pitiful I was, but also maybe, just maybe, you’d come rescue me. Your reply came faster than I dared hope, and I could almost hear the teasing in your voice.
You’re dying, huh? Should I bring a coffin or just some chicken soup?I rolled my eyes…if I had the energy, but mostly I just moaned into the pillow.
Very funny. I’m not dying, I’m suffering. There’s a difference. Huge difference.You promised to come over, which was the only good thing in my bleak little universe, and I immediately started planning my dramatic entrance. Maybe I’d collapse into your arms. Maybe I’d demand you cater to my every ridiculous whim, like a sick queen demanding tribute. Because honestly, when I’m sick, I turned into the world’s most exhausted diva. And you? You were my only hope for surviving this melodrama. I knew you were finally on your way so I sent one last text, hoping you’d become before the eventual end of my life.
Come quick. Bring snacks. And maybe a therapist.