Cuddles (Ryden)

Chapter Two - Silent Breakfast

My cheeks still burned as I followed Brendon downstairs and into the kitchen. Each step sent a shooting pain through my temple causing me to stumble awkwardly. Once in the doorway, the sickly sweet smell of maple syrup and steaming pancakes filled my nostrils.

"Goodmorning, Ryan," Brendon's mom ushered me to my seat and started piling the little circles up to my nose before dousing them in syrup. "Did you sleep well?"

"Fine, thanks," I rushed. I didn't dare look away from my plate. The tension, along with the steamy smell, was starting to churn my stomach.

"That's good," she smiled and sat down beside Brendon. They both happily dove into their plates while I was too deep in thought to even pretend to eat.

What was that? And why did I... did I like it?

Stop being ridiculous, I reassured myself. You guys were piss drunk. Nothing more.

I couldn't help but think there was something more. It felt strangely nice, whether I wanted to admit it to myself or not. The warmth of his body against mine was so different. His smell was almost euphoric. Why did I want to go back to it?

Everyone sat in silence for what felt like years. I wanted someone, anyone, to say something to break it. Brendon's mom eyed my expectantly as I picked at the surplus of blueberries overflowing off of my plate. I did my best to avoid her questioning gaze, but failed.

"Are you alright, Ryan?" She gave me a concerned look. I gave her a small nod, but that didn't seem to be enough. "You look rather pale."

I looked at Brendon for help, but he was focused on his plate. "I'm fine. Really." 

"If you insist," she smiled and returned to devouring her breakfast. 

Brendon was quickly finishing his plate and I realized I hadn't even taken one bite. I shoved giant forkfulls in my mouth between bites and did my best to catch up. With each bite, my stomach pleaded for me to stop. 

I didn't listen.

I kept piling the syrupy mess down my throat despite how sick I bregan feeling. Bite after bite I agitated my stomach more. 

"Slow down, dear," Brendon's mom gave me another concerned look. "You're going to get sick at this rate."

I shook my head and stupidly kept piling the mess into my mouth. If I focused on the stupid pancakes, I'd stop thinking about what happened.

My stomach let out a low rumble as I swallowed the last bite. I leaned back and tried to breathe, but the twinge of pain I was feeling was nearly unbearable. 

 "Ryan," Brendon's mom was giving me, yet another, look. "Are you sure you're alright? You're not acting like yourself."

"I'm fine," I spat.

Then it happened.

I got up and ran down the hall to the bathroom. I fell to the floor letting the contents of my stomach realease. I heaved three or four times until it emptied completely.

Brendon's mom took me home.

Brendon never even looked my way.