Boots

Twenty

"Hey dad?"
"Yes Peter?"
"Is Matthew gunna die?"
"He just has the flu, Peter." Matthew heard his father sigh.
He didn't know how long he'd been sick for, but he had gotten up to puke countless times. Luckily, the bathroom was right across the hall, but he could barely eat which meant his puke consisted of bile which burned his throat and made him wish he was dead.
"Is he awake?" Alfred's voice asked. Matthew grunted angrily. He didn't want to see Alfred so he always pretended that he had to throw up when he came around. He would lock himself in the bathroom and lie on the cold tile floor until somebody came to wake him up.
"Alfred, let your brother sleep. You're gonna catch his flu if you keep hanging around in there."
"What do you know about disease?" Alfred condescended.
"I'm a doctor, Alfred."
"Whatever."
"Alfred, just leave him alone for a while."
"You're supposed to be on my side, Nat."
"I am on your side. This is better for both of you."
"All of you, fermer le bouche!" Francis hissed. "Let Matthieu sleep."
"You're not the boss of me. I'm an adult."
"And I'm a doctor."
"Dad, geez. That's not even relevant here."
"It is relevant since Matthew is bloody sick."
That was what the entire week was like. He should have been used to it by now. His family had been like this since the beginning of time. But all those years on his own had dulled his tolerance for this shit.
The only company he cared for was his parents. Arthur made sure he wouldn't die, which was cool, but Francis sat with him and made sure he wasn't lonely.
His papa visited him every day as much as possible, and spent the whole day with him when he was no longer contagious. The two watched Netflix together and Francis helped him get his food down. He had always been hard to feed when he was sick. If it wasn't for Francis, he would have starved to death ages ago.
"Are you doing okay?" He asked that Thursday as he checked his temperature.
"I want to die." Matthew groaned.
"Being sick is pretty rough, huh?"
Matthew wanted to tell him that he didn't want to die because he was sick. He wanted to say that he wanted to be dead because it was the only way he could think of to free himself from this pain. He wanted to be dead because he had no friends and no job and no future. He wanted to say that he physically wanted to end his life, to stop feeling like such a failure. He wanted to tell Francis that he wished he wasn't born at all. They would all be so much better off that way, wouldn't they? Francis and Arthur could have three children to be proud of and no messed up ones draining their savings and time. None of them would be able to get attached to something that didn't exist, would they?
He wanted to tell Francis all of this, but he was tired and he was weak. So instead, he just nodded, letting his papa live in blissful ignorance.
"Yeah. The flu is rough."