Catboy

17

Julian woke up on fire.

His head was swimming, his mouth dry. The sheets felt like they were made of lead; bright hot and heavy, weighing him down. For a moment, he lay there, not quite sure what was going on.

Then the importance of his illness hit him, and he floundered desperately in his sheets. Panic beat a steady pulse through his veins, mixing with blood already overheated. His throat felt like a desert, dry and empty and all too wrong.

He tried to force out a breath, but it was trapped in his lungs, and he gave in to a violent cough. His whole body shuddered as he sat up, his head resting against the headboard of the bed.

A moment passed, and his head was still pounding, his body wracked by coughs. He vaguely registered that he could hear his alarm going off- how long had it been beeping for? Almost every other noise was blocked out by his coughing and the ringing in his ears. He reached out for his alarm, trying to turn it off. He mistimed it, leant a little too far...

And he crashed to the floor.

He hit the ground face first, his mind going far too slow to bring his arms up to save him. He would have cried out if he could, but his throat was closed up and he could barely see straight. "Please," he managed to whisper, his voice breaking up. He tried to push himself up, but his body wouldn't respond. All he could do was turn his head to the side, ignoring the way his nose stung from slamming into the carpet.

His consciousness was fading away, the world ebbing back and forward before his eyes. He was shaking, teetering on the very edge of passing out. "Please..."

"Julian?" He heard a voice outside his door, panicked and shouting. "Julian?"

Somehow, he had the strength to turn his head one more time. "In... here..." The knocking at his door grew more and more frantic, making his head pound. "Please..."

The door swung open, and Lloyd was standing there, staring at him. Julian instantly regretted trying to get out of bed.

"Shit," Lloyd said. He tried to move towards Julian, then suddenly stopped, as if an invisible wall was holding him back. "Uhhh... Lawrence?" He looked over his shoulder, then shouted down the corridor. "Lawrence?"

There were footsteps, and then Lawrence appeared in the doorway. He pushed past Lloyd, then knelt down beside Julian. His voice was light and sympathetic. "We're gonna get you up, okay? We'll get you back into bed." Julian didn't protest, and Lawrence gave him a reassuring smile. "Everything's going to be fine."

Gently, he hooked his hands under Julian's armpits, slowly pulling him off the ground. He sat him down on the bed. "Can you move your legs?" Julian barely heard him, staring into space as the world went wavy around him. Lawrence took a deep breath. "I'll take that as a no." He leant over and picked Julian's legs up, swinging them so that they were fully on the bed. "You need to lie down for a minute."

Julian hated feeling this way. He hated the way his stomach was churning; he hated the way his throat was dry and his coughs came in sudden attacks. He hated the way his head was spinning, and he hated the way everything felt like it was ending.

Most of all, he hated feeling weak. He watched Lawrence shoot him a last smile, then usher Lloyd out of the room. He lay there in silence, staring up at the ceiling. His heart was pounding, but the last of his panic was beginning to ebb away. He heard Lloyd's bed creak in the room next door, then nothing else. He lay there, alone, waiting for Lawrence to come back.

"Hey," Lawrence said, entering the room as if on cue. He had brought a glass of water with a straw in it. "I've dissolved some aspirin in this- it'll be gross, but I don't think you're in much of a state to be swallowing pills right now." Julian made a somewhat appreciative noise in response, and Lawrence laughed, passing him the glass. Julian took it in his hands, staring at the somewhat cloudy water. He put his mouth to the straw, using the last of his strength to suck back some of the drink. It was disgusting, and he winced at the bitter taste.

"Sorry about that." Lawrence sat down on the side of the bed, then pulled the mess of tangled sheets up. He gently tucked Julian in, shooting him a tiny smile. The two of them sat in silence as Julian tried to suck back the rest of the medicine. "If you fall asleep later, I'll go get you some proper stuff. I might need a prescription though."

"No," Julian choked, the noise strangled and hoarse. "No."

"What?" Lawrence looked at him, confusion and worry displayed across his face. "Why not?"

"D... doctors," he managed. "They... they'll take me away." Lawrence shook his head.

"You can't honestly still believe that, Julian," he said, but he sounded unconvinced.

"Just... please."

Lawrence didn't reply, just shifted ever so slightly. He glanced up and saw Julian had almost finished the medicine. "Do you need anything else? Something to eat?" Julian's stomach heaved at the thought, and he shook his head. "Alright, no food then. Anything else?" Julian shook his head again, and Lawrence fell silent.

Down the hallway, he heard a door slam open, proceeded by angry voices. He tried to sit up, and immediately regretted it. Instead, he craned his neck toward the sound. Normally, his ears would pick up on it. Why wouldn't they pick up on it?

Concentrate.

The voices got louder, more insistent as two people walked up to his room. He still couldn't quite hear what they were saying, so he leant farther forward, trying to understand.

He only picked up one word.

"Doctor."

Instantly, he stiffened, and Lawrence turned toward him. "No," he whispered, his voice weak as panic overtook him. "No." Lawrence didn't reply, just stood up and gave him a smile. "Lawrence, no." He left. "Lawrence!" And then he was alone, choking back a mixture of violent coughing and tears.

The voices went quiet all of a sudden, and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hear a thing. He felt the tears streaming down his face, even though he tried to ignore them- vaguely, he wondered how many times he'd tried to blink them back over the years.

And then, all of a sudden, he couldn't take much more, and he was asleep.

----

When he woke up, Lloyd was sitting beside his bed.

No, he wanted to say. You have to get out of here. You're going to get sick.

But his throat wouldn't cooperate, no matter how hard he tried to force the words out. He lapsed into silence, punctuated with the occasional cough. Lloyd pressed a hand to his forehead, and he winced at the cold touch.

"Shit. You're burning up," he said, and Julian suddenly realized that the room was darker than it should have been.

He couldn't speak, so he just limply pointed to his wrist. Lloyd seemed to get it, and checked his own watch. "It's 3:39 a.m."

I slept that long? Lloyd smiled at Julian's look of disbelief, then gave a small nod. "Yeah, you were pretty out of it. You were talking in your sleep," he added. "Something about needing to find your mom?" Julian flinched. "Uh, yeah, something like that. Fever dreams, huh?"

Get out, Julian wanted to say. Please. It's for your own good.

You have to get out.

You could die.

But all he could do was lie there, silent, as Lloyd took his hand and intertwined their fingers, settled in for the night. Julian wanted to scream at him, to yell, to pick him up and throw him out of the room by force if he had to. He wanted to cry, to beg; but there was nothing he could do, too weak to move and too sore to talk.

So he lay there, silent, and let Lloyd kill himself just a little bit more.

What else could he do?