Veronique swatted repeatedly at Lizzie who tried to place an ice pack on her forehead. Veronique screamed like a baby through her hospital mask as Lizzie was afraid for her life, trying to dodge Veronique's flying hands.
"I don't want that on me!" Madeline's cousin whined.
"But the ice pack is supposed to make you feel better," explained Lizzie.
"No, it won't!"
"Madeline said it would."
"Screw Madeline! Get that thing off me!"
"Don't you want to feel better?"
"I already got chills. Why would I want to feel more cold?"
"To prevent heat flashes caused by your P.M.S.?"
Veronique stopped swinging and gasped. She swiped the ice pack from Lizzie's hands, opened it and poured the ice down Lizzie's shirt. Lizzie shivered and gasped from the chilliness taking over chest then her whole body.
"That's what you get," said Veronique. "Now if you want to make yourself useful, make me a latte. Fat free! With low fat whipped cream."
Lizzie stood trembling with her arms far apart. "How do you make a latte? Is that like a Ralph Macchio?"
"Do you mean 'macchiato'?"
"Yeah, that makes sense."
"Just buy me one, Dumbo!"
Lizzie whimpered before sprinting out of the bedroom. She walked through the hallway then down the stairs into the living room where the girls were chilling, not literally.
Skye looked at Lizzie and noticed the big wet spot on her shirt. "What happened to you?"
The girls got up from the chairs and sofas and crowded Lizzie.
"Veronique didn't want the ice pack on her head," answered Lizzie, "so she emptied it into my bra and asked me to make a latte. So how do you make a latte? Is that like a Ralph Macchiato?"
"Madeline, your cousin is out of control," said Andrea, ignoring Lizzie's question.
"I know," said Madeline, placing the palms of her hands on her forehead for a few seconds.
"You should go up there and talk to her," suggested Debra.
"Why?"
"Because," started Skye, "she's your cousin. And you two are practically the same. You're both rich, spoiled, you speak French, like to flirt with cute boys and have long frickin' names."
"I'm not rich; my parents are rich. But I see where you're getting at. Fine, I'll talk to her."
"Be careful," warned Lizzie. "She might pour ice on your boobies."
Madeline ignored that comment and headed upstairs. She speed-walked into the hallway then entered her bedroom. She walked over to the bed where Veronique was under the covers, writhing and trying to rest.
"Ronnie, we need to talk," Madeline declared. "What are those?"
Veronique took her eyes off the little pieces of paper in her hands to look at her cousin. "Oh, these are Tori Kelly tickets. I was looking at them to make sure they were legit."
Madeline chuckled. "Why do you need to make sure they're legit?"
"So we can be able to go."
"Okay, first of all: the concert is in a couple of weeks and there's a chance that you won't recover by then. Second of all: I planned to go with Lizzie."
"Well, Princess Cinder Block is going to have to wait 'til next year."
Madeline snatched the tickets from Veronique and set them on the night stand. "Listen, Ronnie, ever since you've been here, you have been a total brat. You yelled at my friends, spilled hot soup on them, made them buy you pink toilet paper and stuffed ice down their bras. All they've been trying to do was to help you and you're taking advantage of that. Lyme disease or not, if you can't be grateful for the people trying to nurse you back to health, I will have to remove you from this house. Don't make me do it; I have been a good cousin to you. But I've watched you violate my sheets with soup, vomit and... rash germs, so no more!"
Veronique sat up and took her mask off. "Is that how you talk?"
"Why you take the mask off?"
"I am sick and practically dying. I think I'm allowed to act however I want." Veronique threw the covers off her body and planted her feet on the floor. "If you're not going to give me what I want, then I'll have to take it from you." She reached under the bed and pulled out a baseball bat.
Madeline jumped back. "Where did you get the baseball bat?"
Veronique stood up with the bat resting in her hands. "Oh, I had it for a while. I brought it with me for emergencies."
"What kind of emergencies? Because we have a dope security system."
Veronique swung her bat at Madeline but Madeline luckily ducked.
"Whoa, wait!" Madeline demanded. "What are you doing?"
"Is your friend out buying my latte?"
"I don't know. She was still here when I came--"
Veronique tried to swing her bat at Madeline again but Madeline jumped back, avoiding contact.
"I want my fat free latte with low fat whipped cream!" Veronique fussed.
"Why does one part got to be fat free and the other part low fat?"
Veronique made many attempts to hit Madeline with the baseball bat. However, luckily, Madeline was fast and instinctive enough to avoid every swing and blow produced by her crazy cousin. Madeline ran out of the room, screaming for help. Veronique followed her into the hallway and halted when Madeline stopped in front of the top of the stairs. Around that time, her friends made it up and commenced to surround her.
"What is going on?" asked Skye. "Whoa..." She caught a glimpse of the bat in Veronique's hand.
"Where did she get the baseball bat?" whispered Debra.
"It's for emergencies," responded Madeline.
"You guys claim that I've been a brat to you," said Veronique, "while you have been brats to me. I'm gonna be sick for a long time so you better make my time worthwhile."
"How long do you think you're gonna be sick?" asked Lizzie nervously. "Because I want to be able to live my life. I never owned a house or voted for Hillary Clinton. I want to at least live until I'm sixty-nine like David Bowie or until I'm nine-hundred like Betty White. May God rest her soul."
"How dumb are you?" questioned Veronique. "I mean you're so dumb. You got the IQ of a table."
"Hey!" Andrea ejaculated. "Don't talk to her like that!" She began to put her hands on Veronique, grabbing her by the face and pulling her towards herself.
Veronique let go of the bat when she was in Andrea's grip. Andrea let go of her after pulling her in. When she did, Veronique lost her balance and tripped on the first step of the staircase. After that, she tumbled down the stairs for a half a minute. The girls watched in panic as Veronique fell then rolled on the floor, eventually stopping and laying unconsciously on her side. The girls just stared in shock.
"Nice going, Ronda Rousey!" said Madeline. "You just killed her!"
"Oh, my God!" Lizzie placed her hands on the top of her head. "I don't want to go to jail. I haven't lived to be nine-hundred."
Veronique moaned and lifted her head up just a bit. Then she dropped it down and continued to moan.
"Oh, she's not dead," noticed Skye, not so sympathetic about it.
"Oh, thank God..." said Madeline, putting her hands on her chest. "I guess."
"What if we put her back in bed and told her it was all a dream?" suggested Andrea.
"That sounds like something someone would say after attempting murder," responded Debra.
"Whatever. Man, Lyme disease is a mother."
"It can't be," said Lizzie. "My mother never poured ice down my bra."
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