Eternal

Eternal - Chapter 8

Laurent

Being a twin is strange.

If anyone asks them what it's like, they sometimes get annoyed because it's not exactly like they know anything else. But if someone was to put a gun to Laurent's head and force an answer out of him, he would say this: it's selflessness. It's always putting someone else before yourself. It's being told that you've got Leukemia and being more worried about what it will do to your twin than about what it might do to you.

They've been out of the hospital for a day, and things are quickly becoming unbearable.

Laurent has thrown up pretty much everything he has consumed in the past ten hours or so. His legs are shaking where he's bowed over the ceramic bowl and his arms are propped against his own thighs as he spits a glob of saliva into the toilet. He barely has enough energy to hit the flush before he turns toward the faucet, rinsing his mouth with water and then with mouth wash before slowly turning around to face Larry, who stands in the doorway with a grievous expression on his face. "Maybe we should—"

"It's a side effect," Laurent rasps grumpily, passing by Larry on his way out to the living room. He drags his weary body over to the couch and flops down lifelessly before pulling the blankets up to his chin. Larry follows him like a goddamn puppy, always just a few feet away, always watching. He gnaws on his bottom lip in an effort to hold back further protests and Laurent feels a headache building again at the sight and sound of his twin's misery. "You knew this was going to be a part of it, we both did. It's on every movie and TV show for a reason. You get chemo, you're about to throw up a couple of times. It's normal."

"You're not supposed to throw up everything, Laurent. You're way too skinny as it is. What if—"

"What if what, Larry?" Laurent snaps at him, irritable from the pain pulsing through his aching joints and from the pin-prick flashes of sharp discomfort climbing up his spine and shooting through his brain. It's not like anything he's ever gone through before. He feels tired ALL the time. He can literally sleep for twelve hours straight, only to wake up tired the next morning and the pain never goes away. The medication (he takes five different pills for the pain alone) seems to only add to the drowsiness and when he's not sleeping, Larry is there to motherhen him, chasing him with soup and juice and freaking vitamins until Laurent finally gives in and forces some of it down his stomach. And then he's back in the bathroom, his guts violently churning as he brings up whatever little he had eaten. It's a goddamn vicious circle of pain and worry and fear and more pain and lack of appetite. And the worst thing of ALL - the absolute worst - is seeing the hopefulness in Larry's gaze getting crushed time and time again... seeing him worry and fret and work himself into a frenzy as Laurent's condition worsens little by little. Day by day.

"You better get used to seeing me like this, bro, 'cause it's only getting worse from here."

"Don't say that!" Larry hisses like a ferocious cat and Laurent would have smiled if his whole body didn't feel like it had been hit by an eighteen-wheeler. "You don't know if it's getting worse. The doctor's said—"

"I know what the doctor's said, Larry. I fucking know, alright. It's me this is happening to, remember? Now would you please sit down and stop making things worse?"

Larry looks too stunned for words there for a moment. His whole body is quivering, mouth slightly opened in an indignant pout and the comeback is probably sitting on the tip of his tongue, already, but he's biting it back before it can make its unwanted escape. Instead, Larry takes a deep breath and stomps out the room. Laurent sighs and turns toward the TV with no real intention of watching anything.

He doesn't see or hear from Larry for the rest of the afternoon, until it's time for him to take his pills and even then, Larry is quiet. "We'll have to tell the crew. I scheduled a call."