Shark couldn’t help but snicker at the way Sagebear appeared to be trying to hide her face. It were as though she’d been embarrassed by the way his story ended.
“Sorry, doggy. Guess that ending was a little explicit for your ears.” He then petted her on the head, and stood up. “Come on, let’s go to bed now.”
When Shark and Sagebear entered the makeshift tent made of blankets, Sinbad was in a most peaceful slumber. He was on his side, facing away from the entrance. A pile of blankets, likely meant for Sagebear to sleep on, was situated above his head.
Shark’s fever couldn’t break fast enough.
Ever since he got home from the hospital, he’d been reduced to writhing around and moaning in bed. The sneezing and coughing didn’t help matters either.
Soon, though, he was finally able to get up out of bed without hacking up any mucus or phlegm.
By this time, it had finally become December. With the start of the month came two things: even more snow and Lolly obsessing over the Winter Formal.
The next day, around lunch time, things had managed to sour even more.
As it turned out, Shark’s mother was none too happy about him staying in the hospital. It wasn’t out of concern for her son’s health, but rather how much the hospital bills were going to cost.
Even now, Shark could hear his parents out in the hallway, bickering over medical bills. Dennis was trying to convince Silver that the precautions taken were necessary, but Silver protested that it was all a waste of money.
“Silver, please! He’s got a bad case of influenza! You want to risk infecting the whole household with it?”
For a couple of minutes after calling, Shark and Sinbad exchanged the usual pleasantries, or what counted as pleasantries between them.
Then, Shark decided to bring up what was bothering him:
“Why’s your roommate shrieking like that?”
Shark woke up a few hours later to an unpleasant feeling on the bed.
In his still groggy haze, he wasn’t initially certain what exactly it was he was grabbing at. He knew it to be wet and a bit smelly.
“Where even did this come from-” It then dawned on him what he was grabbing at. “…Oh, jeez.”
“Dad, what’s wrong with Bill?” Shark asked his father when Dennis came into the kitchen. Outside, Bill was now dragging himself through the backyard like a lazy snake.
Dennis grunted, as though Shark just asked a stupid question. “He’s Bill! That’s what’s wrong with him. I’d hate to see a man who looks good after years of drug abuse take their toll.”
In an effort to get Dennis to forget something so nasty, Sinbad handed him a clean bowl for soup.
By the time it was three o’clock, Shark was practically bedridden. He was at least grateful for his father bringing up things he could entertain himself with.
Now Shark was pulling out yet another DVD after watching the whole thing, all while trying not to knock any of his books onto the floor. He then held up two more cases while debating which one to watch next.
“What am I in the mood to watch now?” He asked himself in a voice strained by illness.