A Piece of Me (Tracob)

Day Two

Day two is not better.

Having gotten barely any sleep, I'm already tired by the time I decide to go wake up Troye, around 9:00.

I find him in bed, laying flat on his back, which is a stark contrast to the usual eagle spread mess I'm accustomed to. I guess it's for the better that he sleeps calmly, what with his broken up bones and all.

I sit down on the edge of his bed and sigh. What I wouldn't give to lay down next to him and fall back asleep.

Stop thinking about that, you're lingering in the past. The doctor said no lingering in the past.

I shake his shoulder gently. "Hey, Troye. Wake up."

I hate waking people up. If his doctor didn't specifically tell me not to let him sleep excessively, I definitely wouldn't be doing this.

Troye's nose twitches, the only sign that he felt me stirring him.

"Troye? Hey, time to get up."

He doesn't respond, and my throat tightens a little. What if something is wrong? He couldn't have a seizure or something in his sleep, could he? They said he was fine to go home. "Troye," I shake him a little harder, raising my voice involuntarily. "Wake up. Wake up."

A couple agonizing seconds drag by before he rolls into his side with a soft whine.

I loosen my shoulders with a sigh. "Come on, T. It's time to wake up."

"I'm tired," he says, voice barely more than a whisper.

"I know you are. But you have to eat, and move around a bit and take your meds. Doctor said so, remember?"

"Can't." His eyes are barely open, and he truly looks so weak and exhausted that I almost can't find it in me to grip his arms carefully and pull him up into a sitting position.

"You can, come on. I'll walk you."

It takes a couple minutes to get him off the bed and onto his feet. Even then he leans against me so heavily, I might as well be carrying him.

That part I don't mind. His arms around me and his head on my shoulder could stay there forever if he wanted them to.

I sit him down on the couch, worried that he might fall of any chair I gave him, and cup his face to get him to look at me with unfocused eyes. In the palm of my hand, his head sways and his gaze slides to the side.

"Don't fall back to sleep, okay?" I tell him softly. "Okay?"

His mouth opens, forming the word 'okay' soundlessly a couple times before speaking it with choppy, staggered syllables. "Okay."

I feel that same tightening in my chest. Yesterday he seemed aware. Tired and different than I'm used to, but completely aware and mentally awake, and now he seems half asleep and dissociative.

"I'm going to make your breakfast," I tell him. "And then you'll eat it, and take your meds and you'll feel better, okay? We'll make sure you feel better."

The kitchen is barely 10 feet from the couch, so I keep an eye on him while I scramble an egg for him and section apart half an orange. He's probably not very hungry, but if he is I can make him something else too.

I take the plate over to him, pressing it into his hands when he looks unsure.

"Will you eat this?"

Troye shakes his head. "Not hungry."

"Try, okay? It'll help you."

"Can't. I can't.",