Thirty-five
Javier
W hen my mom kept reiterating to me that this next week was going to be difficult, I did not fully grasp just how challenging it truly would be.
The first night back from the hospital was alright. He had a hangover of the century and it was apparent by once glance at him. Eli had heavy bags under his eyes, and he kept complaining about his head. The painkillers weren't doing their job.
My mom suggested that he sleep in the guest room because she believed he needed his own space. That, and him sharing the bed with me might be too much for me. This wasn't about me, though. It was about Eli and I had to make that clear to them.
I spent a long time trying to convince my mom to let him stay in my room.
It was where he had always stayed when he would spend the night, so it was familiar.
Plus, it meant that I would be right there when he needed me.
If something were to happen or if he were to try something I would be able to step in.
She was very hesitant in giving in to what I wanted and it took some begging, but she eventually agreed.
"Alright, Javier, but if it starts to become too much for you—"
“I don’t understand why you keep saying that,” I muttered. “I’m not the one with a problem, he is.”
“I know.” She ruffled my hair with a tight grin. “And I know how much you want to help which is why I am allowing this. It’s okay, I’ll be watching the both of you.”
I got the gist of her warnings; focusing too much on his problem could take a toll on me.
Taking care of someone with a really serious problem was tough, especially if you did not know exactly what you were getting yourself into.
My mother wanted me to help him, but only if I would not lose myself in the process.
The second day out of the hospital things got worse because it was the start of the withdrawals. Firstly, he was anxious. If I said or did anything suddenly, he would flinch. His hand rested on his chest like it was too tight for him to breathe and he kept asking me so many questions.
Some were about his siblings.
"Why would they send you to tell me that they love me but not say it themselves? That doesn’t make any sense at all."
I had no good answer for that. Eli spent thirty long minutes stressing himself over the twins and their actions.
Thirty minutes of non-stop questions about how they looked at the hospital, how they reacted to the news about him, if I thought that they would ever try and form a real relationship with him.
He focused on them for so long that I feared he would never move on.
Some questions were about what he had done to himself.
"What if I fucked up my memory for good?" his hand trembled in his lap as he spoke. "Or something worse, like my liver. Those can't be replaced. Or can they? No, livers can be replaced, but memory can’t."
I reminded him of what the doctor had told us.
Yes, the continuous alcohol use had been taking a toll on his health as it was causing acute memory loss and lowering his stamina.
As scary as that sounded, it was not a difficult fix.
The problem had not gone on long enough to leave permanent damage.
Elias was lucky, but his anxious brain was not hearing that at the moment.
Some were asked with fear of how everyone felt about him.
"Do you think less of me now?" I could see the quick rise and fall of his chest and looked at me with wide eyes. "I understand if you do. What kind of idiot drinks that much at once? I traumatized you, Kailey, Ricky, and poor Gabriela."
"I don’t think less of you, I could never."
Eli’s breathing was labored, like he was struggling to catch a breath. "I traumatized everyone! I can’t blame any of you for not wanting to be around me. I’m sorry, I really am.”
I hesitated before gently putting my arms around him, his frightened state making me worried to touch him. I hadn't realized how sweaty he was until his body was pressed against mine. The sweat clung to me, sticky and wet. It was disgusting.
The day progressed and the anxiety dwindled down a little, but other things came up.
His hands would tremble and he thought he was doing a good job at hiding it, but the way he flinched every time gave it away.
It frustrated him that his hands were defying him, and all I could do was pretend that I did not notice.
By the end of the day, he was very nauseated.
He did not want to eat dinner, but he hadn't eaten all day because he claimed that he didn't have an appetite. So, by nightfall we had to force him to consume food. I said we, but I really meant my mom. She coerced him to eat a small portion of noodles and to drink some water. That was all she could get out of Eli’s stubborn self.
“It will get worse before it gets better,” my mom told me yet again. She repeated it to get it into my head, to warn me. I heard her.
Day three was by far the worst day there was.
It was a Monday, but I was allowed to skip school to stay with him.
This was the only day I was allowed to miss which meant on Tuesday he would be alone for the first half of the day.
I needed to make the most of it today to make sure he knew that I wasn't going to leave him permanently.
One would think that would be obvious by now, but this was Elias Richarson we were talking about.
He spent the first half of the day curled in the blankets with his eyes squeezed shut, though he was not asleep. Alan had gotten him to eat that morning, but it didn’t stay down. Eli refused to eat again after that because he thought it was pointless when he kept throwing it up.
It caused him to try and isolate himself from us while simultaneously attempting to be as close to me as possible. He was conflicted between wanting me out of the room so he could wallow in his own self-pity and wanting to be snuggled up under me.
A couple of hours later Eli and I were watching a movie.
Well, I was watching the movie while he was staring mindlessly at the TV.
I read online that sometimes a distraction could be helpful, though I was not sure it was working.
There was a little distance between us in the bed to give him the space he currently wanted.
When I glanced at him, I noticed the sweat glistening on his forehead. I pulled the covers back to find that his shirt was completely drenched, it was like someone had poured a bucket of water on him.
"Why didn't you tell me you were hot?" I pressed the back of my hand on his forehead that was unsurprisingly warm as well.
My mom had said before that a fever was possible and not uncommon, but if it was too high then he would have to go back to the hospital.
It didn’t feel severe to me, just a bit warmer than normal.
I decided I would use the thermometer to be sure.
Before I went to get it, I sat him up and tugged his shirt over his head so that he could cool down.
He let me pull it off of him without a fight.
I was about to get up to grab the thermometer and then I was going to inform Alan about the fever, but Eli stopped me.
"Javi?" Eli said wearily.
I turned around. "What's up?"
He wrapped his arms around his torso and leaned his head against the headboard. His voice was barely above a whisper. "I don’t feel well. I want this to be over.”
"I know, Eli." My heart swelled as I grabbed his hand and held his hand loosely. "What do you want me to do?"
He hesitated, biting his bottom lip hard as he contemplated what he was about to say. “You can’t get mad at me, okay?”
When he started his sentence by asking me not to get upset, I already knew what he was about to say next was not going to be good.
Eli had the same look on his face as he did when I caught him with the bottle a couple of days ago.
I did not give him the chance to continue speaking before I shook my head firmly.
I refused to hear the rest of his request.
I felt his grip on my hand tighten and he looked at me with pleading eyes. "Please? I promise I won’t ask ever again."
Shit, don’t do this to me.
I was not going to enable it. He was having a moment of weakness, it was the only reason he was begging. Eli knew better. When one relies on something heavily and it gets abruptly taken from them, they’re bound to try and find ways to access it again.
I wanted to help him. I wanted to take the pain away from Eli because it was hurting me to watch it and be useless.
If I could switch places with him, I would, but that was unfortunately not how the world worked.
Giving him a bit, even just a sip, would be doing more harm than good. He had to push through.
"No," I said firmly, but still gently. When my back pressed against the door was when I realized I had been steadily backing away.
"You said you love me." He wasn’t yelling at me, I didn’t believe that he had the energy to. Instead, his tone was low and hurt.
"I do."
"Then why aren’t you helping me?" he whispered in betrayal as his hand pressed against his chest with force.
I was not sure if he said anything more because I went through the door and shut behind me. If I had to listen to his words any longer, I was going to lose it. I hurried myself down the stairs and found my whole family gathered round having just made it back from school and work.
I was in a clear state of stress and it pulled everyone's attention. Gabriela had that same fear in her eyes as a couple of days ago when we found Eli unconscious. When I rushed up to her, my mother steadied me. Her hands were holding my shoulder tightly as she willed me to calm down.
"Breathe, breathe," she spoke calmly. "What's wrong?"
"He..." I pointed up the stairs weakly, struggling to figure out how to word it. "Someone should go up there"