p h o e n i x *
Quin had spent the night with me last night; on Saturday morning Quin had told me he didn't feel the greatest. We had just finished breakfast and were heading upstairs; I noticed he was acting a little weird.
"You alright, Quin?" I ask him as we hit the landing of the first set of stairs.
He shrugs, almost as if he's afraid to open his mouth. We walk into my room and shut the door behind us. Quin sits down on my bed and looks up at me, closing his eyes.
"Hey, lay down," I say softly, walking over and giving him my hand and helping him lay down. He squeezes my hand gently as he lays back.
"Do you need anything?" I ask him.
He shakes his head and I can tell something is about to happen. He springs up from his laying position and covers his mouth.
"You gonna puke?" I ask him.
He nods.
"Ok, ok, come on, let's go to the bathroom," I say, gently yet again.
I give him my hand and pull him off the bed and into my adjoining bathroom. We've barely made it into the bathroom before he hits the floor on his knees in front of the toilet and vomits.
I sink down behind him, rubbing his shoulders and his back.
"Why are you even in here with me right now?" he manages to get out before he retches again.
"Because I love you," I say.
He pukes again and then leans back against me. I put my hands on his lower stomach, near his pelvis, and rub lightly. He moans a bit from his nausea, and I move my hands in case he wants or needs to puke again, but he puts my hands back and locks his fingers with mine. I press my lips against his cheek and brush the hair out his face from his sweaty forehead.
"Are you okay, bubba?" I ask him.
He doesn't reply but leans against me.
About an hour or so later, he leans forward over the toilet again and gags, but nothing comes out. He leans his head on the toilet seat, and I take the time he's not leaning against me to get up.
"I'll be right back, okay?" I tell him. "I'm going to go downstairs and grab a ginger-ale and some Gatorade, okay?"
He nods, barely lifting his head off the toilet seat. While I'm down there I'll tell Mom that Quinton is sick, and grab the drinks, some Lysol, and some Clorox wipes.
"Phoenix!" Mom calls after me.
I stop on the bottom stair and turn around.
"Get him a cold washcloth and a blanket," she says and I nod, going back up to my room. I set the Lysol and Clorox wipes on the counter, put the ginger-ale and Gatorade beside him on the floor and go back in my room, grabbing a gray blanket with white pawprints on it from my closet; I grab a washcloth from the cabinet in the bathroom and wet it with cold water. After I've done this, I return to my spot behind Quinton. I lift his shirt over his head and wrap the blanket around him. He pulls it tighter and then leans back against me, allowing me to put the washcloth on his forehead. I stroke his face, absentmindedly playing with his hair as he falls asleep on me.
He only sleeps for about thirty minutes before he springs up again, throwing the blanket off of himself, and retches, this time actually vomiting. I rub his back carefully, leaning forward and putting my chin on his shoulder once I know he's done vomiting. He reaches up and flushes the toilet, and I lean back, pulling him with me. Without really thinking, I press my lips to his bare shoulder softly, kissing it several times before I move to his neck and to his cheek. He doesn't ask questions but closes his eyes against the kisses. When I stop kissing him, he grabs one of my hands and pulls it around him. Shortly after, he falls back asleep.
He hasn't thrown up for around three and a half hours, so we both assume it's safe to go back to my bed. I help him lay down and then grab the bucket from my closet (it's there for situations like these) and put it beside him on the bed. I cover him up with a sheet as he tucks the blanket from earlier around him and under his head. I return to the bathroom to grab the Gatorade and ginger-ale and also to grab and re-wet the washcloth. I put the drinks on the nightstand beside him and lay the washcloth over his forehead. He's half-awake/half-asleep, so I return to the bathroom to disinfect and wipe it down.
About thirty minutes or so later, I go back into my bedroom where Quinton is sleeping--at least I thought he was. I go to my bedroom door when I hear his voice call out my name. (so call out my nameeee!)
"Phoenix?" he says softly.
I turn around and look at him. "Yeah, Quin?" I say.
"Come lay with me," he begs, an undertone of whining and wanting in his voice. I cross back to the bed and crawl beside him; he turns around to face me. I look at him as resituates himself, when he looks up and catches my eye, he smiles softly.
It's 6:00 PM now, and I'm downstairs in the kitchen. Quinton is upstairs, asleep in my bed. I'm finishing up making him some chicken noodle soup, but I'm putting it in a container with a lid so it doesn't spill.
"Hey Mom, do we have any crackers?" I ask.
"They should be on the top shelf of the cabinet, sweetie!" She calls back to me.
"How's your boyfriend doing??" Asks my little sister, Paige, sliding beside me and leaning against the refrigerator.
"He's not my--" I begin.
"It's close enough. You both like each other, just admit it already."
I gape at her, but have to admit that she's right about the fact that I like him, about him liking me...that's questionable, and I'm pretty sure she's wrong there.
I find the crackers, grab a spoon, the soup and head back toward the stairs.
"You can ignore me, but we both know it's true!" she calls after me.
I feel my face flush hot and ignore her again, making my way up the stairs. I open my bedroom door and find Quinton sitting up in my bed. I flip the light on and walk over to him, dropping the crackers on his bed and putting the soup on the nightstand beside him. He looks up at me as I set the soup down.
"How long have you been awake?" I ask, turning to look at him.
He doesn't respond, but looks back at me and grabs my face pulling me into him and kissing me. He gets up from the bed, still kissing me, and wraps his arms around me, arching his back and curving his body into mine. I cup his face in my hands, kissing him back softly, but developing the kiss...taking it further...
He pulls away, leaning his head against mine and looks into my eyes.
Neither of us says anything for a long time.
"I want you." he says eventually, breaking the silence.
I respond by kissing him, hoping that this will tell him that I want him too, and I'm pretty sure it does...
Quin ate his soup and a few crackers and was able to keep it down; now we're laying together in my bed cuddled up. He's almost drifted off to sleep--I can hear it in his breathing, when he looks up at me and kisses my lips.
"I love you," he says softly.
"I love you too," I tell him. Less than five minutes later, he's fallen asleep and I'm not far behind him.
12/27/19
