V. H. King's Ink

Malcom Warwick looked at their reflection, unused to the visible evidence of their appearance.  The fluorescent lighting made them look better than they had any right to—or so Camry had said to them that morning.

“Today’s the big day,” Malcom had said.  “I have to look good.”

“You be careful, Mallie,” Camry winked.  “You look too good, and they’ll say you’re distracting.”

“Well shame on them for not paying attention!”

Camry’s laughter followed Malcom down the hall to an office that wasn’t theirs.  Mallie.  That was Mallory’s nickname, but Malcom liked the way it caused a flutter in their ribs.  Just a little bubble of…something. 

Malcom couldn’t dwell on that right now though.  They smoothed their dress—a conservative navy blue—and touched up their lipstick the way Mallory had shown them.  When they smiled in the mirror, it was Mallory’s face smiling back.  Malcolm supposed that made all of this a little easier; it was hard not to feel hopeful and confident around Mallory.  It was easier to be honest too—with themselves and with others. 

Mallory’s smile was what Malcolm had fallen in love with first, and her honesty second.  Mallory’s smile did more than just light up the room.  It made the air sing with gentle warmth.  Comfort was only a glance away, and the world wasn’t so bad as one might imagine.  And Mallory’s honesty?  Well, that was the bedrock.  The foundation of everything.  Firm enough to keep you in check, and kind enough that it left you feeling free.

Looking at a reflection that both was and wasn’t their own, Malcolm thought the impression of Mallory’s smile would do.  A far cry from the real thing, but the fluorescent lights were on their side.  That, and Mallory believed in them.

I don’t trust anyone else…

---

“Rianne—what did you do, buy the entire pharmacy?!”

“Oh honey—you know most of this I had at home.  I like to keep prepared for emergencies, and this is an emergency if I ever saw one.  Where’s Wick?”

Mallory held up a finger and ran to the half-bath.  No time to fling up the toilet seat.  Come to think of it, she should just leave it up until all this blew over.  As it was, everything came out in the sink.  TSome of it even splattered on the walls.  Mallory gagged on the bile, trying to hold her breath so she didn’t have to smell the acid of her own vomit.  But breathing with her mouth open meant she could practically taste it, and that set her off all over again. 

Goodness.  How much could she keep throwing up?  It’s not like she’d eaten anything since the night before—and that had mostly been soda crackers and carrots.  She got weird before she had a big presentation, and the night before had been no exception.  She hadn’t wanted to run the risk of nausea—and look at her now.  It was a wonder there was anything left.

“You woke up like this?” Rianne asked, having followed her.

“Aren’t I fabulous?”

Her voice sounded like cardboard.  Mallory rinsed out her mouth and sat on the closed toilet lid.  Slowly.  The last thing she needed was to get dizzy and give herself a concussion, falling by the tub.  Rianne turned on the faucet, rinsing out the sink while Mallory waited for the room to stop spinning and her voice to come back. 

After using a rag from under the sink to wipe down the walls, Rianne motioned for her to hold out her hands.  Mallory did, blinking back a yawn.  The air tasted like flowers.  Rianne lathered soap between Mallory’s fingers, gently massaging her palms in the process. 

“You’re going to make me fall asleep,” Mallory mumbled.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re still on your feet.  You would go off to work with three different kinds of flu if you thought you could make it through the day.  Now, first things first!”

Rianne stuck a thermometer under Mallory’s tongue, clipped a pulse oximeter to her index finger, and had a blood pressure cuff around Mallory’s bicep before she could protest.

“Deep breaths.”

Now that the stink of vomit wasn’t so strong, it was easier to manage.  Besides, Rianne was here.  She had forgotten that she got so scared, when she was sick and alone.  That was why she’d always gone into work, no matter what.  If she could be around other people—if they thought she was okay—then she had to be.  Whatever was bothering her, it would pass. 

The thermometer beeped, pulling Mallory from her thoughts.  She looked down her nose, trying to read the little digital numbers.

“No fever,” Rianne said.

“I could have told you that.”

“Your blood pressure is a little low and I’m not exactly happy about your pulse.”  Rianne stowed away the tools as quickly as they’d appeared.  “Any chills?”

“Nope.”

“Dizziness?”

“Only when you ask too many questions at once.”

“Were you drinking last night?”

“No, Wick already—”

“Where is he again?”

“Work.”

“He doesn’t work on Tuesdays—and he’s never on the day shift, he does the overnight baking.”

“Not his work, my work.”

“Yours?” Rianne’s face bunched up for a moment, but the thought was dismissed for later.  “You need fluids and food.  Toast and orange juice okay?”

“I think I can manage.”

“Good—then it’s back to bed with you.”

“I don’t want to go back to bed.”

“I’ll compromise for the couch, but you’re laying down.”

“Fine.”

Mallory let out a sigh.  Rest was what she needed, she knew.  She just wasn’t sure she would get it, with her mind noodling over Wick.  Mallory started to pull herself up by the rail on the toilet. 

“Ah-ah,” Rianne waved a finger.  “One more thing.”

“Are you serious?!”

“Honestly it was my first guess, but I knew you’d just brush me off.  So here we are.”

“Those things aren’t even accurate most of the time.”

Mallory looked at the pee-stick as if it had stuck its tongue out at her.  Rianne still held it out, unbothered. 

“You wanna go to the doctor instead?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I bought three, anyway,” Rianne said, smirking.  “One a week.  Paired with your ‘symptoms’, shall we call them, and we’ll know whether or not you need to start redecorating.”

“I hate you for this.”

Rianne wrapped Mallory in a perfectly plump hug and kissed the side of her head.

“I’ll leave you be.”

Mallory stared at the box, half-tempted to just throw it away.  But she had called Rianne in a panic, and Rianne had showed up.  And really, was it so bad if the answer was—

But what did she want the answer to be?