How A Heart Breaks

Taking care of Porter has become something that the other guys generally stay away from. Because, well, to be blunt- it’s nauseating. He’s got fevers, insomnia, he breaks out in sweats, but then he’s too cold. He throws up, he gets diarrhea, and I’m the one taking care of him, cleaning up after him. I love him, though, and the hardest part about going through this with him is the fact that he’s in so much pain. Like now, for instance.

“Pash!” He screams, “Pash fucking shoot me in the head! Please!” I run into the room and he is sweating, there’s some barf that had managed to get on the floor and he’s crying his eyes out. I sigh and slowly start to move toward him, and grab the paper towel roll by the bed.

“Porter,” I say, “Just calm down. It’ll be over soon.” He thrashes and kicks his legs like a child who isn’t getting his/her way.

“No!” he yells, “Seriously, just kill me, Pash.” He sobs and I look up to see him clutching his stomach. I shake my head at his death wish, which is, quite frankly, becoming more and more frequent. I take a shit load of paper towel and wipe off the bit of his barf that landed on the floor. My cheeks puff as if I was going to throw up and I quickly throw the paper towel into the garbage can with the other things that Porter has expelled.

I move to sit beside him, wondering how someone in such a bad state can still look as beautiful as he does. So I just look at him, and he’s whining, and he’s still crying.

“Get these fucking sheets away from me!” He doesn’t want anything to touch him, because he’s fucking sweating his ass off. I sigh again. And hold out my hand for him to take.

“Come on,” I say, “Take a cold shower, okay?” He’s still crying from frustration but he nods, and I help him stand to his feet. He wobbles in my arms, all the way to the bathroom, and I sit him on the toilet, like a child. I reach over into the bathtub to turn the water on. I check it with my hand, and it’s only a little less than luke warm, but I think that’s just perfect for him. When I look back, he’s taking his top off, and I notice how pale his face looks when it’s completely off.

The shirt falls to the floor in a heap and I reach over toward him, and unbutton his jeans, and he takes them off while he supports himself with one hand on my shoulder. Like he’s a grandfather or something. I even have to slip the fabric passed his feet. He groans.

“I feel so sick.” I scrunch my face up, hoping that he won’t barf on me or anything. I let my fingers brush against the skin on his leg, and his skin is so hot. I frown and look up at him, and I just can’t imagine the discomfort he’s feeling.

“You okay?” I ask, meaning, is he okay so that I can leave and he can shower there by himself. But he shakes his head.

“I’m dying.” I roll my eyes.

“You’re not dying, Porter- your stupidness just caught up to you, is all.”

“And you’re still calling me stupid.” I knew that if he was feeling okay, he would have raised his voice a bit more. But I grin at him and stand to kiss him on the cheek.

“You look beautiful, still, you know?” I bring my hand up to cup his cheek but he scoffs, and swats it away.

“Oh please, Pash,” he says, “I look like testicles.” I laugh and shake my head.

“No,” I counter, “You look perfect.” Even if you throw up a lot, even if you’re fussy, even if you’ve got a runny nose and yes, even if your eyes are red from crying. He looks into my eyes then and I grin , and peck his nose. And there it is. A smile spread out on his lips. He Hans’t really actually smiled that much since these withdrawls, which means, only a few days now. But still- I loved his smile and was so accustomed to seeing it on him, that it just saddens me when I don’t.

“Now,” I stand up straight, “I’ll go make you soup or something homey like that, while you shower, okay?”

“I could slip and fall and die!” he whines as I help him to his feet.

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?” he glares, his nose scrunching. “For all you know, my legs could give out and I could faint, and bump my head really ba-”

“Okay!” I hold my hands up. “Fine. I’ll treat you like a child then.”

“Thank you.”

“I suppose you want me to bathe you too?”

“Yeah, actually.” He tugs at my shirt, “Off.” I look around the room, as if someone was about to pop out and say ‘HA! YOU’RE ON CANDID CAMERA!’. No one did.

“Porter, no. Just go in there. You’re wasting water.” He pouts.

“Fine, you old sac.” I growl at him.

“I. Am not. Old!” He just strips from his boxers as though he were the only one in there, and I obviously have to look at him. And even though he’s sick, I still want to just kiss him like those people do in movies. I want to so bad. But I just let him slip passed the shower curtain and I watch his shadow move.

“Pash, just come in with me.” There’s his whining voice again. “You’re my boyfriend, aren’t you? Come on.” I think I was in there before he even finished. He had me at ‘boyfriend’. He turns around to face me, and the water is so cold.

“You know the water is freezing?” I ask. He nods.

“Yeah. I like it. It feels good.” He leans his head back so his hair is dampened by the water. And then he brings his face to look at me again, and he hooks his arms around my neck. “I can warm you up, you know?”

I grin, wraping my arms around his waist and pulling him close. And we just hold each other under the cold water, and suddenly I don’t care if he’s sick, and he’s barfed or anything. He just looks so pretty and his eyes are sparkling when he looks at me even if they are red from crying. So, I have to kiss him, I just have to. Even if he’s been throwing up. I do- I kiss him with all I’ve got and more, and we kiss for a long time.

It’s the best I’ve felt since I walked back into his life.