The Demons We Found

2.2 December 27, 2006

"I don't know. I'm hoping that it's just a virus that I caught at the school or something. There's been this really bad stomach thing, You know?" I asked, the man helping me out today. Wait- where was he? "Mike?"

My eyes flitted around my empty apartment. I knew he didn't want to be here, but he was doing it for Jaime, not me, as he had reminded me several times today. I got intentionally quiet; listening. There was a thud from my bedroom. I rolled my eyes wondering what type of stupidity he was into now. Instead, I saw him clinging to the bathroom door handle on his knees. He was sweating and breathless. He tried to talk, but it was like he just couldn't quite form the words.

"Mike?" I asked him. He slowly turned his head, and his unfocused eyes lingered, as if trying to find my face or something to focus on. Turning his head made him wobble though, like it threw off what little balance the door was giving him.

"Ma-mugh..." His voice was weak and sputtered.

"Okay, come here." I told him firmly. I wrapped my arms around his arms and got him up onto his feet, all of his weight leaning over my back. His bare torso was leaving sweat all over my stupid bar uniform and I was going to have to clean it. Sometimes I can get away with wearing the shirt twice because the smell of smoke and alcohol is so thick in the room that it clings to everything and you can't tell. This one is now quite dirty though, and I'm grossed out.

"Wha-" Mike sputtered, his minimal weight still almost pulling me down. I tried to support both of our weight, and shuffled to get him over to my mattress. I suddenly wish I would have stuck with cheerleading back in high school, although having that activity three years ago instead of four might not make too much difference now.

"On the bed, just lay down." I wanted to set him down gently, but he flopped onto his back. Breath rushed from his lungs on the impact and his head lolled to the side. Thankfully he groaned, coughing on his own lungs. This is why you shouldn't smoke.

"What have you eaten today?" I asked him, moving my body to find his gaze.

"I ha- uh, egg and a toast." He said slowly, panting out each syllable.

Nothing like that should be giving him a reaction like this. Was he dehydrated? I gave him a water bottle a few minutes ago. I looked around to see how empty it was, but I didn't find it. "What have you had to drink? How much of that water bottle I gave you?"

"I had a beer at breakfast." He said, lucidity returning to him pretty quickly now that he was laying down and blood was able to get to his head.

I bit the inside of my lip. "How much of that water bottle did you drink?"

"I put it back in your fridge." He muttered. His hands were starting to grip my bed sheets, which I took as a good sign. He now had strength enough to respond to feeling like shit.

"Of course you did. I'm going to get you some ice cream and peanut butter. I want you to eat it all, alright? And drink some water." I said sternly.

"Fine, fine..." He muttered as I walked away from him.

I sighed and grabbed my phone from the side table, going out into the kitchen. "Stay here while I get it. Don't move. If you sit up you're just going to get dizzy again."

He sighed in agreement, and I saw him move around, but he stayed laying down, he just threw his long legs up on my bed too. He was getting comfortable- that meant he was alert enough to feel discomfort. I would take that, even if it meant his dirty tennis shoes were on my pillowcase.

I dialed Vic's number quickly, digging around for spoons and peanut butter first. Thankfully he answered on the second ring, "This is Vic Fuentes."