Eat My Heart Out

I wake up Sunday morning with Frank still in my arms. After getting a lot of water and some Pepto in his stomach to calm it down, he went to bed around 9pm. I crawled in after him about two hours later.

I turn my head and see that it’s 9:52. While my head is turned towards my alarm clock, and therefore also my door, the smell of fresh pancakes enters my nose. I smile.

I carefully leave Frank to sleep a little longer, put on a t-shirt and a pair of socks and quietly exit my room so that I won’t wake sleeping beauty. I jump up the stairs, and as soon as I open the door at the top of the stairs, the smell of pancakes is the only smell around me. Even though I didn’t shower last night and I tend to build a quite horrid body odor during the night, I still only smell pancakes.

“Morning,” my mom mumbles as she walks past me. She smiles at me, and I smile back before I follow her into the kitchen where she flips a pancake. There’s already a mountain – consisting of 4 or 5 pancakes – next to the stove, and I quickly grab a plate to shovel 3 of them onto.

I practically run over to the kitchen table, which is lined with jam, sugar, syrup and honey – everything that will ruin your teeth, but leave you wanting more.

“Morning, Gerard,” dad says from the other side of the table. I smile at him quickly, before I start preparing my first, sticky pancake. I’m still a little mad at him. Even though all of my exams are over, I’m still not out of the woods yet, and neither is he. Nor mom. They’ve pretty much given up on pressuring me into going to college, but they still throw me disappointed, hurt glances as if that’s going to convince me.

Mikey suddenly flops down next to me. He looks extremely tired, and even though mom only makes pancakes for him, she’s the one who has to bring them to him. I think he’s gotten too addicted to coffee. I am too, but after sleeping for almost 11 hours, I can just as easily wake up completely from the smell of pancakes as I can from the taste of coffee.

“Where’s Frank?” mom asks when she’s back at the stove, pouring some more pancake mixture on the pan.

“He’s still asleep,” I answer, before I stuff my face with a huge bite of pancake.

“Did he sleep all night? He didn’t throw up or anything?” she asks concerned.

I shake my head, feeling a bit guilty. Maybe I should’ve taken more care of him. I mean, he was still lying in my arms when I woke up, but who’s to say that he didn’t get up during the night to throw up, then crawl back into my arms?

I shouldn’t have let him eat so much candy.

“I’ll go check on him,” I say, before I take the last bite of my first pancake and chew it as I walk down the stairs. I stop in front of my room door, swallow the sticky, delicious stuff and carefully open the door. Of course, it sounds like I’m trying to knock the door down when I open it. I hate that door.
“Frankie?” I call out. He’s still on the bed, but he’s moved since I left him. I walk over to him and sit on the edge of the bed. I push away the hair that’s covering the bit of his face that isn’t buried in the mattress.

He groans.

“Are you awake?” I whisper, caressing his cheek. He slowly opens his eyes and look up at me, then squeezes them shut and whines.
“Does your stomach still hurt?” I ask softly, tracing a finger over his cheekbone.

He nods carefully.

“Aw, baby,” I coo, then lean down and kiss his forehead. He sighs heavily.
“Do you feel nauseous?” I whisper into his ear. He nods again. I plant a soft kiss on his cheek, before I slowly get up from the bed – careful not to move the mattress too much – and go into my bathroom to get a bucket. I pour a bit of water into it, bring it back over to my bed and place it on the floor below Frank’s head.
“I’ve placed a bucket on the floor if you need to throw up,” I say softly, touching his cheek again. He nods.

I sit down on the floor next to the bucket, running my hand through his hair slowly as I just stare at him. I want to be there for him. I need to take care of him.