The Saint Jones [Completed]

chapter 70: Julian Who?

Day seven, it has been one week, a whole week since I have not seen Julian. Can I say it has been the worst week I have ever experienced on this trip? It was a calamity.

I have never cried as much as I have cried during those seven days. It was a shame for me, I know my mom was watching me the whole time, and it disgraces me to know that she is once again, seeing me broken into multiple pieces.

I have been sick, I am still sick and this is something I created. It has been seven days and I have not eaten anything, only water was what I consumed, but I ate nothing because I simply could not. There was this feeling in my throat that was preventing me from swallowing and I could not even smell the scent of food.

I could not stop vomiting, this morning as well I woke up and rushed into the bathroom to throw up everything. I got a very high fever, my body was practically on fire but the cold was eating me. I even had a moment of blindness, which scared me to death.

I know these are all the results of my actions, which is why I cannot call anyone to tell them that I am not feeling well. It is all because of me, there is one person to blame, and it is me. I am too weak, just too weak.

How can I let someone push me down so much? How can I suffer so much because of someone? How? I cried for him last night, I called again and again but once again, I got his answering machine. There is this sadness that I cannot get rid of, it is slowly killing me and I feel like less than nothing.

I grab my box of toilet paper and rub my eyes again and again, the tears are falling as if my eyes were a water container. Today I woke up and decided to put on a bit of makeup, to feel the way I used to feel, but even that was not enough to delight me again. I feel worse.

"Cher!" A loud and heavy knock on my door is enough to make me jump off my bed, and the loud voice as well.

"Cher it's Zeke, open the door please!"

Zeke, what is he doing here right now? It is almost 8 pm. I sniff and throw all my used toilet papers in the small bin I have brought next to my bed because I was too tired to walk to the bathroom all the time. My fingers fasten the button of my blue jean and push down my sweater. Then when I feel good enough, I walk to the door and open it.

He is panting on the other side, as if he had just ran miles to come here. As soon as his eyes fall on me, they widen and I cannot blame him, I look like a mess.

"Hey, you're okay?" He moves forward to touch my cheeks but I step back slightly.

I shake my head and look down at the floor, my grip on the door is tightening, I need to keep my strength, because I do not want to fall in front of him.

"Goodness Cher, you look sick as hell!"

"I am–... I am okay," I try to mumble but my voice weakens.

My eyes are slowly closing but I try to regain my senses. He walks inside without my consentement and takes my hand off the door, then he closes it. He grabs my shoulders gently and guides me to my bed and helps me to sit down.

"Do you need something? Tell me please, you look awful, Cher," he says and the worry on his face is here, well seen and plain.

"I am okay," I try to tell him again. His state of worry is not helping me at all, it is annoying me and stressing me.

"You're sure?" He pushes again.

"I promise, I am okay."

He looks at me in the eyes for a moment, as if he is debating if whether I am telling the truth or not. Then he looks away, and mumbles something under his breath. He looks lost.