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Sixty-Eight

Athena

Cameron began to cough. His body jerked slightly as he tried to catch his breath. At first, it was just a rough clearing of his throat, but within seconds, it turned into deep, chesty coughs that racked his body.

Confusion danced in his eyes like he didn’t quite understand what was happening to him. His nose wrinkled in disgust, and his lips curled as if the air around us suddenly turned foul.

“What…the…fuck…is going on?” he asked between coughs.

I held fake concern, knowing full well what I had done. “Are you alright?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he stood there, still coughing and gripping his stomach with his hand. His face began to pale, taking on a sickly, greenish hue.

He stepped away from me as though my very presence was poisoning him. The space between us felt wider and colder.

“Cameron, what's going on?” I cried out. His eyes met mine, wide with alarm, before he turned suddenly, gagging and retching. He staggered to the shrubs nearby, doubled over, and began to vomit
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