After my fit of total self hatred and disgust at myself, Kyle – not understanding the reason behind it – called in sick at work so he could look after me, bless him. I felt kinda guilty, really. I’d been a crappy husband, and there he was looking after me like some kind of angel or something. He insisted on letting me have full control of the TV all day, getting me food or drinks when I felt like I could stomach them, being there to rub my back when they came back up, and snuggling me with the comforter wrapped around us both on the sofa. He’d made sure I had loads of water to drink, too.
"Wanna watch a Disney movie?" he asked with a smile. I nodded. “Which one?”
“You pick.” I was too busy being comfy and not feeling too sick for once to go and risk moving. He went and put Peter Pan on, getting back under the comforter with me. We snuggled up together like the world’s most disgustingly over cute couple, cuddling and kissing more than watching the movie.
About halfway through the movie, my phone went off. I’d completely forgotten I was gonna get some more gear to sell. This one was more weed and dope than anything else, but drugs were drugs, and the local addicts relied on me having stuff to sell. I could hardly run myself bankrupt just because I felt like shit now, could I?
"You can hardly go when you're throwing up, gorgeous," Kyle said when I’d arranged to meet the dealer at the squat like usual.
"I'll be fine," I protested.
"I'm coming with you."
“I’ll be fine,” I insisted, but it was completely pointless, really.
“I’m still coming with you.” I pouted at that. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy being looked after, but I didn’t really want him coming with me to the squat. “What?”
"Just promise you'll keep your hands to yourself, even if it goes crappy, okay?" He nodded, and I put my head back on his shoulder where it had been before. Kyle kissed my head, going back to how snuggly he was before the phone call.
In the middle of trying to get the price of what I was buying down, I began to feel sick again. Just being here reminded me of my nightmares. It wasn’t really what I needed while I was trying to get a good deal. Kyle flashed me this concerned look as I tried to keep the last coffee I’d had in my stomach.
I excused myself, realising it was gonna piss the dealer off that he had to wait for me to puke up, but it was better than puking in his lap, I guess. Once I was done, I cleaned myself up and... and I really wished I’d stayed knelt down at the toilet. Kyle had decided to ‘entertain’ the guy while I was busy. My stomach really didn’t need me to see him sucking the guy off after what I’d told him earlier. But I couldn’t seem to stop staring until he was done.
“You can go now,” I said to the dealer, throwing the paper bag of cash in his lap and vaguely hoping it hurt him. I noticed Kyle wiping his mouth out of the corner of my eye, but I refused to look at him. He watched as the dealer walked away with the money and I put the drugs away. I ground up a few buds of the weed I’d just bought and quickly rolled myself a blunt. I wanted to be dead to the world for a while. I could feel him watching me. I felt sick again.
I walked out without Kyle, hoping I’d get far enough ahead that I’d get to my car before he caught up with me. He was kinda too quick, though, following me straight out. “Rayn, wait up,” I heard him saying somewhere behind me. I didn’t look back. I wrapped my arms around myself, hugging my stomach. There wasn’t anything left in there to throw up. So why did I feel so ill? I walked faster, but of course, the curse of being so short is that you have tiny legs, and no matter how hard you try, you’ll probably never be as fast as you want.
Kyle didn’t take long to catch up with me, even though I was almost running. “You okay?” he asked. I stared down at the floor, still hoping my legs might grow and get me away from him. “Rayn?” I stopped, sitting down where I was, right in the middle of the road. I hugged myself tighter. “Piggy back?” I shook my head. “What’s wrong?”
I looked up at him, my eyes wide. I didn’t just feel sick, I felt hurt, too. "I asked you not to do stuff like that."
He gave me this kinda sad face, "I know. And I'm sorry. I just wanted to get rid of him quicker so I could make sure you were okay." I just kept looking at him. “Sorry,” he said, looking more upset. He kept apologising and I kept sitting there with my arms around myself. I felt so stupid. When I light that blunt up, he started apologising for being a shitty husband instead.
“You’re not a shitty husband,” I told him.
“If anyone’s the shit husband here, it’s me. I can’t hold down a job, I’m a drug addict, I can’t have sex. I can’t even fucking deal with my problems; I just run away from them.”
"Doesn't make you a shit husband.”
“It does. Because I really want to go somewhere else for a while,” I looked back up at him again, my eyes still wide.
"You can if you want."
“I dunno, Kyle,” I whined, “I’m nearly twenty five, but I’m still acting like I’m a kid. It’s pathetic.”
“It’s cute,” he smiled.
“I doubt you find it cute when I disappear.”
"Okay, not so much then. But the rest of the time it is." I had to lie down at that point. I didn’t feel so sick anymore, but the weed was really strong and I’d already lost the ability to sit up under my own steam. I stared up at the sky, acutely aware of Kyle watching me. Thankfully for me, I’d gone beyond the point of caring about anything anymore. I took another drag on the blunt, breathing it in like it was oxygen. Apparently he realised how stoned I was, ‘cause he picked me up, moving me out of the road. “Wanna go home?” he asked when I put my head on his chest. Which was odd, ‘cause I didn’t want him anywhere near me a few minutes ago. I hummed, smoking and watching the world pass by as he carried me home. I think I was asleep before we even left that street, y’know.