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Dated to October 14th
Oct. 15th, 2009 07:52 pmThis was the most miserable and humiliated Lex had ever felt in his life.
A few days ago, he'd come down with horrible headaches, sore throat and slight fever. Without his mutation, he thought he'd just caught a cold from someone, nothing too serious. But when the first welt had appeared on his neck, he'd finally given in to Anatoly's insistence that he go to the clinic to get checked out. That was where he'd found out that he'd contracted chicken pox, a children's disease, and he couldn't have been more embarrassed.
No one in Lex's social circle growing up got the chicken pox. Children of the elite were sequestered together in fancy private and boarding schools, so there was just no exposure. And if someone did happen to contract it, many parents pulled their kids out of school until the disease had passed. It wasn't fashionable to have a child who was sick with such a common illness and it was even a bragging point if a child made it to their teens without getting it. After the age of nine, Lex hadn't had to worry about it anyway, which had allowed him a small, fleeting glimmer of pride from his father.
But now he was paying for that pride. The embarrassment of having small red welts dotting his pale skin made this worse then when he'd been sick with hypothermia. They were even on his head, dotting his bald scalp. And of course, those were the ones that itched the most, as if wanting to cause a scar where everyone would see it. It took everything Lex had to grip the blankets Anatoly had wrapped around him and not scratch at them.
Speaking of Anatoly, the Russian had been hovering like a mother hen ever since Lex's throat had begun to scratch. At first, Lex had been flattered and ate up the attention, but now he had to hold back from groaning when he heard a soft, accented voice asking if he needed anything. He loved Anatoly, he really did, but all the attention was smothering him. Granted, hearing Anatoly tell stories of taking care of his children when they had the chicken pox was adorable, but it still didn't make up for it. He'd spent more time pretending to be asleep then he ever had in his life.
At the moment he was sitting up in bed, wrapped in blankets despite the heat, trying to read. Anatoly had brought him back a book about Alexander the Great which he'd pleaded from the bookshelf to sooth Lex's temper. It was a good book, with good theories devised from Roman monuments and tombs but Lex was finding it hard to concentrate on the words. Instead he was mainly gripping the cover tightly in his hands so he didn't give into the urge to scratch.
A few days ago, he'd come down with horrible headaches, sore throat and slight fever. Without his mutation, he thought he'd just caught a cold from someone, nothing too serious. But when the first welt had appeared on his neck, he'd finally given in to Anatoly's insistence that he go to the clinic to get checked out. That was where he'd found out that he'd contracted chicken pox, a children's disease, and he couldn't have been more embarrassed.
No one in Lex's social circle growing up got the chicken pox. Children of the elite were sequestered together in fancy private and boarding schools, so there was just no exposure. And if someone did happen to contract it, many parents pulled their kids out of school until the disease had passed. It wasn't fashionable to have a child who was sick with such a common illness and it was even a bragging point if a child made it to their teens without getting it. After the age of nine, Lex hadn't had to worry about it anyway, which had allowed him a small, fleeting glimmer of pride from his father.
But now he was paying for that pride. The embarrassment of having small red welts dotting his pale skin made this worse then when he'd been sick with hypothermia. They were even on his head, dotting his bald scalp. And of course, those were the ones that itched the most, as if wanting to cause a scar where everyone would see it. It took everything Lex had to grip the blankets Anatoly had wrapped around him and not scratch at them.
Speaking of Anatoly, the Russian had been hovering like a mother hen ever since Lex's throat had begun to scratch. At first, Lex had been flattered and ate up the attention, but now he had to hold back from groaning when he heard a soft, accented voice asking if he needed anything. He loved Anatoly, he really did, but all the attention was smothering him. Granted, hearing Anatoly tell stories of taking care of his children when they had the chicken pox was adorable, but it still didn't make up for it. He'd spent more time pretending to be asleep then he ever had in his life.
At the moment he was sitting up in bed, wrapped in blankets despite the heat, trying to read. Anatoly had brought him back a book about Alexander the Great which he'd pleaded from the bookshelf to sooth Lex's temper. It was a good book, with good theories devised from Roman monuments and tombs but Lex was finding it hard to concentrate on the words. Instead he was mainly gripping the cover tightly in his hands so he didn't give into the urge to scratch.
