Fainted

CHAPTER 14: FAINTED 

RACHEL'S POV

The moment I wake up, I know something is wrong.

My whole body feels unbearably heavy, my head throbs like a hammer pounding against my skull - probably because I could not get a good sleep for some time, and my skin burns with heat. I struggle to sit up, only to realize that even breathing feels like a chore. A groan slips past my lips as I force myself out of bed, my legs wobbling beneath me like jelly.

  "I need to get to work. I have no place to place an excuse." I whisper.

I drag myself to the bathroom, gripping the sink for support. My reflection in the mirror is ghastly—pale face, tired eyes, sweat lining my forehead. I shouldn’t be moving, but I have no choice. I have work to do.

By the time I get downstairs, I am lightheaded, my vision blurring at the edges. The chef pauses what he’s doing and looks at me with concern. “Madam, are you alright?”

I force a small smile. “I’m fine. Good morning.”

“Good morning to you too. But you don’t look fine."

He approaches me and rests the back of his palm against my forehead.

   "You are burning," he gasps.

   "You have a fever, don’t you?”

I smile timidly and gently remove his hand, “I’ll be okay. It is just a fever, I will be fine once I am; I get the medication on my way,” I say, waving off his worry. I don’t have time to be sick.

Despite my reassurances, I feel worse with every step I take. By the time I reach work, my entire body screams in protest, but no one seems to notice—or maybe they just don’t care. Miss Beatrice, as usual, hands me an excessive workload, piling task after task onto my already fatigued body.

And then, her senses seem to click in,

“Are you sure you can handle this, Rachel?” she asks, her eyes flicking over me briefly. “You don’t look too well.”

“I’m fine,” I repeat, because what else can I say? If I refuse, she’ll only make things harder for me later. Her act of concern isn't really meant to be taken as one.

I push through, swallowing the nausea and clawing at my throat. I barely register the conversations around me, my hands moving on autopilot. But my body can only take so much. 

The bell next to me ding, indicating that the order for a couple is done. There is no one that is less busy so I offer to take it. As I carry a tray of meals towards the couple’s room where they had lodged, my steps falter. The floor sways beneath me. My arms feel weak.

I try to hold strong. Maybe when I reach the bedroom, I can just find somewhere to sit. So I try to hasten my footsteps. I knock and the door is opened for me. 

I place the tray containing their meal on the table.

I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision, but the dizziness only worsens. A cold sweat breaks out over my skin, and suddenly, I can’t tell which way is up. The last thing I hear is someone gasping before my body gives out, and I fall forward—straight into the tray of food.

Then everything goes black.

.

.

.

My eyes snap open. Where am I? Heaven? Did I make my journey right? 

However, I get the answer faster than I expect. That is when I realize where I am. I am lying on a hospital bed, a drip connected to my arm. The faint smell of antiseptic lingers in the air. My head still feels heavy, but the pounding has lessened.

A nurse is beside me, jotting something down on a clipboard. When she notices I’m awake, she offers a small smile. “You’re awake. That’s good.”

“What happened?” My voice is hoarse, my throat dry.

“According to those who brought you over, they said that you fainted at work. Your body was overworked—both physically and mentally. You also had a high fever, and from the looks of it, you haven’t been getting proper sleep.”

I look away. I know she’s right. I’ve been pushing myself too hard, barely getting any rest. But what else am I supposed to do? I have no choice.

“The doctor says you need to stay overnight for observation,” the nurse continues. “You need to rest.”

  "Alright, thank you." I do not bother to argue with her about why I should be allowed to leave. 

She leaves shortly after, and I’m left in the cold, sterile room, staring at the ceiling. When I check my phone, my chest tightens.

No calls. No messages.

Not even from Noah.

I shouldn’t be surprised. I shouldn’t feel this hollow ache in my chest, but I do. He doesn’t even care that I fainted in his own hotel. There is absolutely no way that he won't be aware.

A knock at the door startles me, and the nurse walks in again, carrying a small paper bag.

“A woman named Beatrice dropped this off for you.”

Miss Beatrice?

I take the bag, opening it to find a packed dinner inside. 

  "Is she still..."

  "Not at all. She zoomed off immediately after I collected the dinner from her. My stomach twists, but I force myself to eat despite the lump forming in my throat. Beatrice isn’t my friend, but at least someone thought of me. At least someone cared enough to send food.

Loneliness creeps in, wrapping itself around me like a suffocating blanket. I could call Emily, but I don’t want to worry her. She’d drop everything to come here, and I don’t want to be a burden.

I swallow back the emotion rising in my throat and focus on chewing. I’ve never felt so alone.

NOAH’S POV

Sitting in my bedroom, I absently flip through the pages of a business report, but my mind isn’t on the words.

My phone buzzes, and I glance at the screen. It’s Beatrice.

   "Hello, boss."

   "Hmm?"

“I gave the food to the nurse,” she says the moment I pick up.

“Alright.” I end the call without another word.

Whether or not she would have it delivered to the right person, I do not care.

My eyes shift towards the window, and my mind drifts back to earlier in the afternoon. I had just finished a meeting when I saw Rachel being carried out of the hotel, her body limp as the paramedics rushed her to an ambulance. The staff whispered in hushed voices, murmuring about how she had fainted while working.

I had stood there, watching. Listening.

And yet, I did nothing.

Back in the present, I lean back against my chair and continue flipping through the report with no real interest until I am fed up with it. I push it aside and climb on my bed with a fixed mindset.

It doesn’t matter.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

It is all an act and it will remain so.