“Look at my back!” I say to MindReader.
MindReader wrinkles his nose slightly as he turns me around to look closer. “Have you asked the doctor about it?”
He runs a hand down my back and I feel the sweat drench his fingers.
“Yep,” I say. “She said poor temperature control is typical in CFS.”
MindReader pouts. “It’s so strange,” he says.
“Are you going to leave?”
“I mean,” my face wobbles, “because I’m sick again and I don’t know how to stay well and I’m sweaty and shouty.”
“Never,” MindReader says.
I sit down on the bed next to him. He moves his head and it blocks the light creating a fuzzy kind of aura around him; a halo of light.
“No matter what I do?”
“No matter what you do,” he says, touching my arm with a cool hand.
“But I am practically disabled,” I say. Regrettably, we are again at a stage where he has to make me my lunch before he goes out.
“You’ve been sick for a long time Billy and it has never mattered,” he says.
“I have had significant periods of wellness!” I say immediately, for it is my mantra.
MindReader tries to supress a smile. “Yes,” he says.
“Never? Never ever?”