Skipper's Heartbeat (PRN)

eleven

There he lies. Prince is coughing, sneezing, hacking, and everything else you can imagine sick people do as they lay in bed. His beautiful amber eyes are sunken in his sockets and his fair skin is pale. Yet, he still manages to be such a fox. He's forever and always super fly, even while he is sick in bed.

"I want you to..." Prince stops talking for a second to sneeze. Rubbing his nose he says, "As I was saying, you should work on your transition between notes. You're really choppy and it sounds ugly."

"Sounds ugly?" I giggle, "I never heard of something sounding ugly. Care to explain?"

Prince's eyes reject my casual joking. His nose twitches and I sense another heavy sneeze coming on. I feel bad for him. It's Monday, he's sick, and he's all the way in Chanhassen when he could be home in bed. 20 minutes is not long but it can feel like years when you feel the way Prince does. Poor baby is so determined in earning his money the rightful way. He must get off

Placing my hand on his thigh I ask, "Do you want to relax for a jiff? You look like a pile of shit."

"Oh thanks, Mo." Prince leans into his opposite arm and coughs. Pulling back, he looks at me. "I'm fine. Can we finish now?"

Every Sunday and Friday night his band is on the setlist for some club all the way Uptown. Last Friday he'd got caught in the rain and now... He's as sick as you can be, obviously. Prince is so irritable when he didn't feel well.

"We've only got fifteen minutes left and as Mature Monica, I will end the session early. You need some milk or something." I laugh, standing up. As I skip to the door I fix my dress that is slightly stuck to my thighs. Without hesitation, Prince follows behind me in awe as my swaying hips guide us to the kitchen. Opening the cabinet I ask, "Chicken noodle, tomato, or split pea?"

"Chicken." He folds his arms on the table and burries his face into those muscular arms of his. I remain at the stove putting on his pot of soup while he groans into his forearms. Giggling, I turn on my feels to face the big baby sitting at my table. "You want some juice?"

"Mhm," he groans from the area where his face is burried.

Bending down into the refrigerator, I look at the options that flood the bottom shelf as I ask, "What kind?"

"I don't know..." He mumbles.

"I'll take that as Orange Juice." I retrieve the juice specifically for my sickly brat. "It's my favorite. You seem to drink it a lot too..." Pulling the carton out I pour his cup and set it on the table. I try to walk away but he pulls me back by wrapping his hands around my waste. "Prince let me go, you're sick."

He snuggles his face into my side as he objects my accurate claims. "No, I'm just a little under the weather. I'll be alright. I don't get sick."

Trying to push him off only makes things worse because he tightens his grip around me. It is not until I shout, "Your soup is going to burn!" He then let's me go. I run over to the stove and pour it into a large blue bowl. "You were almost eating tar," I say, sitting it in front of him. Prince laughs as I stand here, placing my hands on my hips. "There you go." Watching him, I push my hospitality to a new level. "You want some crackers with that?"

When he smiles back at me, I knowingly laugh, turning around the retrieve a pack of saltine crackers to accompany his soup.

"This is the life," He jokes. "A woman that'll cook for me? It don't get any better."

"Anything for you," I say, pushing along the joke as I watch him remove the silver spoon from his lips. I can't help but enjoy myself. I dig this whole situation. While the sacrifice is his immune system, I gained the chance to hang out with Prince in my house without my mother hounding us and without him hounding me about my lessons. I can gladly take care of him, whatever he needs I've got it. "I talked to my granny."