Healing Gabriel (BoyxBoy)

✣ Chapter Thirty-Nine ✣

Healing Gabriel: Chapter Thirty-Nine

                                      〒|〒Evan's POV〒|〒

      My eyelids cracked open the tiniest bit after I heard my bedroom door squeak open against its hinges. I propped myself up in my mountain of pillows and blankets my mom had practically buried me in earlier that day (and, hey, I wasn't complaining; I would rather be buried six feet under ancient Thomas the Tank Engine bed sheets than dirt and grass).

      "Hey," a voice said, kicking the door closed behind them. If I could've, I would've sighed in consternation, but I didn't feel like getting more breathless than I already was. I had been secretly hoping it would've been Gabriel who was coming to see me again, as it was now Sunday night, but deep down I knew he was probably busy with school and all, so I tried not to look too disappointed at the sight of my brother rather than my kitten.

      "How're you feeling?" Dylan asked, leaning against my door. I was pretty sure he was holding a tray of soup, but my eyes were quickly losing their focus so I couldn't be positive. I just plopped back down against my mattress, miserable as shit.

      "Life sucks," I groaned out, wheezing a little.

      "Nah, life doesn't suck, just yours," he teased, but I wasn't in the mood to hear anything he had to say. I didn't even want to look at his stupid, smug face.

      "Shut--" gasp "--the fu--" gasp "--ck up."

      "You shut the fuck up. You can't even insult me right."

      It was getting more and more difficult to catch my breath the longer I laid down, but that was okay because maybe I'd finally pass out and wouldn't have to deal with him. "Get out," I demanded weakly, gritting my teeth.

      "Sit up," he commanded, his voice making up for the dominance that I had lacked. He was also ignoring my request and instead coming closer to my side of the bed.

      "I said," deep inhale "get out."

      "I said," he mimicked a gasping noise (like the asshole he was), "sit up."

      I let out a groan of agitation, which was a mistake because it wasted whatever small dollops of air I had left, and I began wheezing and trembling all over. That only lasted for less than a second, though, 'cause Dylan hauled me up against my headboard and handed me a cold glass of water. I didn't want to drink the water, but I knew I had to in order to catch my breath, so I straightened my back best I could and took a small sip.

      "You know, I don't like picking on you when you're sick. It's no fun."

      I narrowed my eyes at him and put the cup down on top of my nightstand. "Then don't do it," I muttered softly, trying not to waste anymore breath than necessary.

      "But I have to," he said, grinning as he ruffled the sticky, sweaty tendrils of dark brown hair off my forehead. "You're my little brother."

      "I'm only a year younger than you," I responded, my eyelids dripping over my eyes like melted candle wax. It was hard to keep my eyes open for too long without getting dizzy, so I shut them.

      "Exactly, that makes me older. So, how're you feeling? Any better?"

      "Not really." Worse, actually, but I wasn't about to tell him or anyone else that.

      "Mom's been trying to push your appointment to sooner, but your doctor is really busy, I guess."

      "Does that mean that if I die, it'll be their fault and we can sue them for," intake of breath, sip of water "improper treatment of the ill and dying?"