Louie.

I can hear them.

Voices.

Asking the same question, again and again, but I can't make the question out. I can't move, or see anything and I feel like I'm falling. My stomach drops and my throat tightens, I can't breath. Yet the voices still ask me, pressure me to answer.

And I realizes that they are the voices of Rockwell, my step-family, my father, my mother, relatives, friends, maybe even the world. But I don't know how to reply, I can't reply and I feel so scared, and alone. I can't stop falling as the voices slip away.


I woke up scared shit less.

My clothes were soaked in sweat, the moisture collecting even into my sheets. I groaned in disgust, but the effort lit my throat on fire, tickled my throat and started a coughing fit. I coughed my lungs out and struggle to sit up, but settled for rolling onto the floor.

I grumbled and moaned as I tried to find the strength in me to get up but I couldn't.

My chest felt heavy while my head was light headed. Toes numb with my throat on fire. The room felt chilly yet I was still sweating. I felt horrible, I felt weak. I felt out of control.



I wanted food, water, a shower, to change clothes, drink hot tea, ice, a big blanket, I wanted so many things to soothe myself so I tried my best to slowly sit up and crawl towards the dresser where Beth left the medicine. I filled the cap and chugged it down, wincing at the mint feeling that livened up my esophagus in a new way.

Then I stumbled out of my room and down the stairs, all the while using the wall to support me. The microwave in the kitchen reads midnight and I have failed to consume anything in a day.

My stomach urges me to consume anything and everything I can get my hands on but I just heat up canned soup, adding two cans of water to help soothe my sore throat.

When the soup is ready I waste no time in consuming every last bit and soon I find myself laying on the couch with the television on, sleep tugging me to come over to it's cool, comforting home.

I let it claim me.

~

"What up with him?"

"Uh, I think he's sick."

"He kinda looks cute. . ."

"Don't even start, he's a huge ass. . ."

"Not at all what you expected him to be?"

"No, I thought having an older brother would be great. . . but the way he is. . . I don't even know anymore. . ."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine, it's not your fault Rockwell."

I can feel my stomach twist, and not in a good way. My body kicks into overdrive, very aware that Lorraine and Rockwell are talking about me.

"It just-"

Before Rockwell can finish what he's saying, I sit up abruptly and start coughing like crazy. My stomach urges me to throw up and mouth becomes filled with saliva, prepared to release anything but all I do is dry heave.

Even as I'm my body struggles to throw up anything despite having nothing I'm very aware that both my step-sister and the boy from across the street are watching me. But when I show no signs of letting up and I start to struggle to breath Lorraine quickly rushes to the kitchen and returns with a glass of water. Rockwell kneels besides the couch and my hand reached out to his shoulder automatically squeezing and I cough, dry heave, and struggle to breathe all at once.

Lorraine hold the cup out to me and I waste no time in downing the contents, gasping for breath after and relieved when I can finally intake the oxygen.

"Jesus Christ Ben! What the hell was that?" She yells, starring at in shock. I just shake my head at her and lean against the couch cushions, closing my eyes and breathing deeply. My fingers release Rockwell's sweater.

"I don't know. . ." I rasp out.

My body attempts to stand up and maybe get food, or take a shower, but the ideas are out the window when I collapse back onto the couch. By this time my step-mother and step-siblings are all bounding down the stairs to see the commotion.

"What's going on?" Beth asks, Louie hugging her leg. She narrows her eyes at me, and shakes her head.

"Did you even eat Ben? Did you take the medicine?"

I want to tell her that I did eat, that I took the medicine last night but my body is too weak to move so I just sit there and close my eyes and wish they all would stop staring at me like I'm some crazy outer space alien.

But of course they all tend to surprise and next thing I know Lizbeth is handing me the medicine and Beatrice is putting a wet wash cloth on my head. Beth heats up some canned soup for me and then sets to work on making fresh vegetable soup for later so that I can "start getting better."

Lorraine and Rockwell just sit by my feet and watch the TV while I sit and eat my soup.

Even though I should be happy, and thankful to have a family that is nice enough to do such things for me, I'm not.

I just feel like crawling into a hole in dieing because I know I missed out on it growing up and it feels like my insides are turning to ice and my stomach is churning in the most unpleasant way. Tears want to fall from my eyes and all I can think is, "I don't want to be here."