He wakes up twice during the night.
The first time he is shivering. His comforter is tucked underneath his neck; his knees are balled up around his chest. And still he is freezing. Goosebumps raise the hair on his arms and legs. The second time he wakes up, the comforter has been thrown to the floor. His shirt is damp from all the sweat. It is a restless night. His mouth is dry when morning finally comes.
The bathroom is down the hall, next to the kitchen. It is early Saturday morning, and none of his floor mates are up yet. He walks down the hall in his underwear and a long white tee-shirt. He stops in the kitchen first, thirsty, digging through the small fridge for some of his food. There's half a bottle of orange juice in the crowded door. He finishes the bottle.
Outside, the morning drips wet and grey. The skies are heavy with charcoal clouds. Winds blow down from the north.
He rinses out the bottle, sets it upside down next to the sink, and smiles.
"Today," he thinks, "is the day I will get better. A perfect day to stay inside and slurp chicken noodle soup and drink orange juice and just rest. A perfect day to mend this battered body."
The air is crisp and clean. He takes a deep breath before walking back into the hallway.
And then he is in the bathroom. He is still tired and feverish, a little wobbly standing above the toilet, but even still it's impossible to deny what he sees: his urine is bloody. No, that's not an accurate description. It's not so much that his urine is bloody as it is that he's just peeing blood. As far as he can tell there's nothing but red coming from his body. The toilet water swirls red.
He shuffles slowly back down the hall. His left hand drags against the wall. Inside his room, he locks the door so that no one can bother him. He checks his clock before slumping back down on the bed: 7:52 AM. He tries to remember what he could have possibly done the day before that would have made him so utterly exhausted. There is nothing. He wipes his teeth on his tongue and tastes blood. He swings his legs under the comforter and closes his eyes.
"I will do something about this," he says to the wall. "I will get up and do something as soon as I sleep a bit longer."
