Widow

* F L A S H B A C K *

I retched badly as I vomited for the third time today into the bucket Norman had brought me. 
After he took me to the hospital because of the bite and the doctors couldn't find anything after four days, we went back home. Barely a day later, this shit had started. Fever, muscle cramps and shortness of breath. The last twelve hours, non-stop. 
I muttered a half-hearted curse and straightened up again, drenched in sweat, to lie back. We only had a bed and an old sofa in our apartment. I had voluntarily retreated to the sofa so as not to soak the bed, especially as it didn't matter where I slept, I was taking the muscle pain with me.
I heard the front door open and close.
Norman came in with a worried expression and threw his coat in the corner. 
"How are you?" he asked me and also took off his scarf. 
"Great," I lied and sat down on the edge of the sofa, resting my arms on my thighs.
"I've spoken to the doctor, he's coming around tomorrow to take another look."
"We can also go to his practice, Norman," I said, annoyed, as he had been treating me like I was terminally ill the whole time.
"You stay here and don't move Widow. You just passed out last night, I'm not dragging you through the city center. Besides, who knows who you could infect..." he said tensely.
He didn't argue with me. I lay down again with a sigh.
"Are you hungry?" he asked me as he walked into our small kitchen.
"Nah, I just got rid of my last meal," I shouted half heartedly in response. My muscles tensed up again and I tried not to curl up too much.
Quite unsuccessfully, however. A soft groan escaped me as I struggled against the cramps and tried to stretch my muscles a little to make them stop faster. I heard my tendons crack. A shiver ran down my spine when I heard this sound.
After a few seconds, I felt Norman's hand on my shoulder and heard him say something to me.
"Breathe deeply, if you can. I'll go back to the doctor and ask if he can come round for a service today," he said and I heard him put his coat back on.
"We don't have any money for that!" I yipped and tried to get up to stop him from leaving, but he was out the door before I'd even sat down.
I tried to get up anyway and by the time I staggered to the front door and opened it, Norman was long gone. So it wasn't enough that we'd put the rest of our salary towards the hospital stay and the check-up through the malarkey in the alley. Now he was just spending money that we no longer had.
And the rent was due in a week.
"Shit," I muttered and shakily closed the door to run to the window and shout after Norman that he should get this bullshit out of his head.
Halfway there, however, I got another cramp and went down panting.
This was never the flu.
Norman and I had both heard the ghost stories about monsters sucking your blood, but we hadn't said a word about it until now.
My face contorted in pain, I clutched my chest, my eyes fixed on the wooden floorboards. That horrible twinge in my chest was back again. As I gasped for air, I began to cough. I tried to catch my breath between the convulsive gasps. But just when it seemed to be getting less, it started all over again. I couldn't tell how long I had been squatting on the floor. But when I heard the front door open, I realized that at least an hour must have passed.
"Widow!" Norman immediately came running to me and tried to push me up. But I was still coughing and couldn't catch my breath enough to think clearly.
"Get some water." I heard Dr. Newman's voice.
Norman hesitated briefly, but then ran into the kitchen. He had just fetched fresh water this morning from the big fountain at the end of the street. I wasn't sure how much was left because he had already brought me something to drink several times today. Water pipes have been installed in the neighboring houses since the beginning of August. An invention that everyone here was expecting a lot from.
To be honest, so did I, but we still had to walk until it was ready.
"Can you sit up?" the doctor asked me and carefully tried to help me up.
I remained kneeling on the floor, but tried to sit up. Every muscle trembled and every breath was agony. I gasped for air. I didn't manage to finish my breath before the next coughing spasm started. I automatically bent over again.
This time, however, I tasted blood when I tried to breathe in.
"Here," Norman came back and put the bucket of water on the floor next to the doctor. 
"Good, help me get him to the sofa," Dr. Newman said and I struggled to help as they grabbed me by the arms and moved me back onto the sofa. Relieved, I slumped against the backrest and gasped for breath. 
"A clean cloth. Wipe the blood off him, I'll start the examination," he said and I let him go through the whole thing again. After he had checked my pulse, my breathing and all the other things, he went to the door with Norman and talked to him. I only half heard the whole thing because I was just tired from the fever and coughing spasms. Norman came back and sat down at the table in the alcove next to the room door and didn't say anything. 
"Diagnosis?" I asked hoarsely after a while. 
"...We'll talk about it tomorrow," he mumbled. 
I knew that tone of voice.
He was thinking. 
"Norman..." I said tiredly, I didn't have the energy to argue with him, "What did he say?"
"He said there's no name for the disease yet. But it seems to have cropped up here in London from time to time over the last few months."
"And what else?" I asked after a few minutes, during which I had to digest what he had just said. So at least it was something that was a little familiar. However, there was a painful feeling in my stomach. Was it getting worse?
Was there any medication that could help or would it lead to death?
"Let's talk about it tomorrow, I've just got to..."
"Norman!" I growled and looked at him darkly.
However, I closed my eyes a short time later to stop the throbbing in my temples.
"I... It's..." He didn't have the heart to say what needed to be said, but I knew where I was going with this.
"Deadly," I finished his sentence tonelessly. He remained silent. So yes.
A lump settled in my throat. I swallowed and opened my eyes, my gaze fixed on the floorboards.
"Widow, I know it's absolutely absurd, but what... If the guy who bit you... I mean, no normal person drinks other people's blood."
"You have a gift for complicating things Norman. You mean if he's one of those demons from the old scary stories," I finally voiced the thought I'd been chewing on since the bite.
"It's not completely far-fetched, you know. Maybe you're lucky, it's just a small infection and you'll be fine." He sounded just as hopeless as I felt. I didn't say anything. I didn't even know what to say. However, I was relieved of this worry by another coughing fit and more cramps.
"Either way," I gasped when I'd regained my composure, "I don't know which would be better. A myth or a disease that's hardly ever happened yet," I mumbled, leaning back tiredly, "Probably wise to put an end to this before we have a chance to find out." My muscles ached so much that I could barely think straight.
"Don't think like that, Widow. We'll find a solution..." Norman said and stood up, "Try to get some rest, I'll go to the hospital tomorrow to see what we should do."
"Write a eulogy and choose a coffin," I grumbled sarcastically. I could feel Norman's angry look.
"Leave it Widow." He said threateningly.
"I get it." I opened my eyes tiredly and we looked at each other sadly for a while. He also knew that the next few days would probably be my last and it filled my chest with even more pain than I already had.
"Night Norman." I mumbled and looked away.
"Night Widow... Call if you need something...", His voice sounded brittle and he left the living room in a hurry to go to bed.
...Fuck.
How did you deal with your death sentence?

* F L A S H B A C K   E N D*