w i l d e r *
Rowan, my best friend, suddenly jumps up from the lunch table, setting off murmurs and looks from our friends, and takes off walking to the door and down the hallway. I jump up from the table, following after him quickly. I see the tail end of his foot going into the bathroom and follow him in there, just in time to hear a stall door slam, a retch, and a splatter.
"Row?" I call out. "You okay, bubba?"
I hear a groan. More retching and splattering. I crawl under the stall door that he's in, and settle myself behind him.
He turns around, looking pale and green; his skin is clammy. "Y-you shouldn't be in here," he says, immediately gagging and vomiting in the toilet again. I pull the strands of hair from his face, pulling him back against me. He allows himself to rest against me, breathing heavily.
"You need to go home," I whisper in his ear, my lips close to his cheek. Without thinking, I touch my lips to his cheek softly, stroking his forehead. He takes the few minutes he's not puking to turn and look at me.
"Come with me," he whispers, not saying anything about the fact that I just kissed his cheek, as I expected him to do. He finds my right hand, and grabs it, sliding his fingers through mine.
He makes it to the parking lot without barfing again, but before he gets in my car, he leans over and vomits beside the parking lot. I rub his back and help him in my car, and we drive back to my house. I help him upstairs to my bedroom and grab a bucket to put beside my bed for him, and then go downstairs grab a bottle of Sprite, a bottle of water, a bottle of Gatorade, a can of ginger-ale and grab a package of Zesty crackers. I put this into a basket, and carry it back up the stairs to my bedroom, only to find him curled up on the floor of my bathroom. I grab the bottle of Sprite and a sleeve of crackers, and then I go into the bathroom beside him. He looks up as I enter, and sits up, leaning against the bathtub. I open up the bottle of Sprite, tipping it to his lips, and letting him take a small sip. He swallows it and I put the lid back on the bottle.
"You want to try to eat a cracker?" I ask him softly, stroking his cheek tenderly without thinking.
He shakes his head.
"Okay, just let me know what you need."
He nods and leans his head against me. I can feel him shivering, but he's on fire, so I know that he has a fever.
"Do you want a blanket?" I ask him.
He nods, and I get up off the floor and going into my room and pulling a blanket out of my closet. I go back into the bathroom, finding Rowan with his face on the toilet seat, having just thrown up again. I drape the blanket over him gently as he flushes the toilet and leans back against me. I rub his shoulder through the blanket as he lays against me, stroking his cheek absentmindedly.
"C-c-can I have the--" he begins, trailing off and pointing to the Sprite bottle.
I nod, unscrewing the lid and pressing the bottle to his lips again, tipping it up so he can drink. He takes the bottle from me, and I tell him I'm going to go get him a straw. When I come back, he's wiping his mouth after throwing up again. He reaches, again, for the bottle. I stick the straw in and lift it to his lips. He takes a sip leans back when he's finished. After I put the bottle aside, he draws closer to me, leaning against me. He falls asleep for a short while, jerking awake just in time to spew into the toilet. I get up and grab two washcloths, wetting them both with cold water. I put one on his forehead, pulling him back against me, and wiping his face with the other one after he flushes the toilet. I gently run my hands up and down his sides, again absentmindedly, as he lays against me. I see him close his eyes briefly out of the corner of mine.
"S-S-Sprite," he whispers, stuttering a little. He's back to shivering again as he sits up. I hand him the bottle of Sprite, letting him drink as much as he wants. When he's gotten all that he wants, he hands me the bottle and I set it aside, but don't look away. We stare into each other's eyes for a long moment, and before I even register what I'm doing, I cup his face, leaning forward and kissing his lips softly. He kisses back for a half a second, but then quickly pushes away.
"You're going to get sick," he whimpers.
"I don't care," I whisper back, kissing him again. I feel him open his mouth against mine and smile. He moans against my lips, almost silently, and I pull back, not sure if it was a sound of warning or a sound of pleasure.
"No," he whines, grabbing both of my hands and kissing me again. I pull away, looking at him.
He whimpers.
"That's enough for now, sweet boy," I whisper in a low voice, pressing my lips against his and then to his cheek.
Rowan hasn't thrown up for about four hours now, so we've moved to my bed, the bucket still there, as well as the crackers and the drinks. I look over at him leaning against my pillows and lean over, pressing my lips against his. He puts a hand behind my neck, pulling me in closer to him and deepening the kiss, opening his mouth against mine once more. My hands wander over his chest, then settle on his face.
He pulls away, leaning his head against mine. "I love you," he says softly.
"I love you more," I reply.
He smiles, his features brightening as he leans in for another kiss.
That evening, my Mom brings up chicken noodle soup for him, and we both decide that he should stay over tonight and that both of us can stay home tomorrow. Even if he doesn't throw up again, our school has the policy that you're not supposed to go to school within twenty-four hours of vomiting. Rowan takes small spoonfuls of the chicken noodle soup, still scared to eat much. He manages to keep it and a couple of crackers soaked in the broth down.
That night, his body is pressed against mine, his head laying against my chest. I lift his chin up, meeting his gaze and pressing my lips against his, and lacing my fingers through his. He smiles against my lips. When we break apart, I lean my head against his, kissing him again softly and quickly. Both of us fall asleep minutes later, carefully and cozily cuddled up together, our bodies pressed against one another's, and our fingers laced together.
12/24/19
