Chapter Four #2
What were his levels right now? Luis didn’t have his tester, had no way of knowing. Was he at risk of having a stroke any second?
“I have to go,” he said, interrupting Julien’s worried inquiry. “Really. I’m sorry. I’ll just order a—”
He reached for his phone on the nightstand as a fresh wave of nausea washed over him. He clutched the phone to his body gasping, trying not to throw up. He needed to calm down, raising his blood pressure would only make it worse.
“You have to go right now?” Julien asked, confused. “Luis, what’s going on?”
Luis could barely hear him over the pounding in his ears. It was Saturday night, almost Sunday. Jesus, he was so fucking stupid. He should’ve done the treatment days ago.
Now it was about to be Sunday.
“I-I need to go–” he turned his phone over to look, and half a dozen alarms and reminders for his treatment were stacked up in his notifications. The battery was nearly drained from how urgently his phone was trying to notify him.
“Stay a little longer, please. Let us at least feed you,” Julien said. “Please, you’re in no condition to be out by yourself.”
That was probably true, but right now his red blood cells were a greater threat.
If the doctor hadn’t done any bloodwork on him, hadn’t done anything invasive, he wouldn’t have noticed.
Or maybe any symptoms Luis was showing he’d put down to the drug.
Luis hadn’t been conscious to give his medical history.
“I have to go,” Luis said, at a loss. Even as he said it, he knew he couldn’t get home under his own steam. He didn’t know what to say to Julien though, couldn’t imagine telling him the reason why he had to leave.
“At least have something before you go. Karim,” Julien called, when the silence went on too long. “Can you make Luis something to eat?”
There was a beat, and then Karim peeked in the door. He’d clearly been listening and pretending not to. “Oh hey, you’re up.”
The comment was missing Karim’s usual bristle.
Great, Luis was now so pathetic that even Karim was being nice to him.
“Any food allergies?” Karim asked.
Luis stared at him blankly. What?
“No?”
Karim nodded and disappeared. Julien reached over to the side table and lifted the glass of water sitting there. It was heavy when he placed it in Luis’s hand, but Julien didn’t let go. Instead, his other arm slid more completely around Luis and Julien helped him bring the glass to his lips.
Luis did his best not to flinch at the touch, at the care. How long had it been since someone had touched him that wasn’t his mother or a medical professional? Too long, far too long.
“That’s good,” Julien said as he drank. The water was cool and crisp. It was maybe the best glass of water he’d ever had.
He finished, leaning back against Julien’s embrace, too weak to do anything else. He’d done nothing since waking up, and already he was exhausted. He felt like he’d run a marathon.
Was it the last of the drugs, or his impending medical emergency?
“Just be easy. You need to rest,” Julien said.
Luis wanted nothing more than to rest, but he couldn’t do it here. He had to get home, or give up and let them take him to a hospital.
It was hardly a choice. If he wasn’t actively having a stroke or a heart attack or a blood clot, he wasn’t going to the hospital. He’d refuse.
But his will would only last so long as he wasn’t having a medical emergency. He needed to get home, but he couldn’t even stand. He felt like a ticking bomb, and he couldn’t even check to see how bad it was. He was flying blind.
Stupid, so stupid.
“I’ll go get you more water,” Julien said about the empty glass. He eased Luis back against the headboard, making sure he was supported by the plush, expensive pillows before he stood.
Luis closed his eyes when Julien left. Calm, he needed to stay calm.
Thirty minutes and another glass of water later, Luis still hadn’t come up with a solution, but he had gotten his freshly laundered clothes back. Julien then, to his horror, had to help him into them because his body was all cement limbs.
When that was finished, Julien helped Luis to the bathroom.
Because today had no limit to its humiliations.
Julien did all of it with an exceptional amount of professionalism, but every time he touched Luis, it felt like it left a mark.
Fuck, he was a mess.
When Luis was settled back in bed, Karim came with breakfast. He arrived carrying an ornate silver serving tray with breakfast foods laid out in a beautiful spread. It looked fit for a restaurant rather than Luis’s sorry self.
Karim brought the tray and sat it on his lap. Luis stared down at it, at a loss.
“Oh, this is, um, thank you,” he said.
“I hope you enjoy,” Karim said, stiff like he wasn’t used to making nice with Luis. “I tried to make a variety since I didn’t know what you like.”
That was an understatement. There were waffles, both scrambled and sunny side up eggs, buttered toast, two kinds of sausage, and what looked like a whole mango, neatly cubed.
Luis realized he was actually going to have to eat some of this if he didn’t want to be rude. Karim had clearly gone through a lot of effort.
His stomach clenched and he forced himself to pick up the fork. Karim’s eyes stayed on him. “I had no idea you could cook,” he said, to try and diffuse the weird tension.
Karim shrugged, but moved off, taking the other chair in the lounge area on the other side of the room. “I dabble,” he said nonchalantly.
Julien covered what Luis thought might be a laugh with a cough. “Dabbling, really?”
“Hush,” Karim said. Then to Luis, “Eat.”
Eat. Right.
Why had he let Karim make him food? He should’ve protested. Should’ve forced himself to stand, to leave. Should’ve let them take him to the hospital last night.
But Luis was weak, weak in body and mind. And now he was still sitting in their fancy guest room, a king's breakfast laid out before him.
Julien started a conversation with Karim about needing more fine grit sandpaper to fix the legs of an antique chair, and Luis exhaled as the attention moved off of him.
He forced himself through some of the mango, eating slowly, then a forkful of eggs and a bit of toast. It was all objectively good, delicious even, but his stomach wasn’t certain.
He kept picking at it slowly, trying. The food would help at least the drug, and Luis needed to feel better if he was going to get home.
“How is everything?” Karim asked suddenly. Luis jolted guiltily, there was still so much food on the tray.
“Good, really good,” Luis said quickly. “I’m sorry, I just–my stomach, I’m still having a lot of nausea.”
“Oh of course, we don’t expect you to eat all of it,” Julien said as Karim stood.
“We have ginger tea, I’ll make you a cup–” Karim started to move to the door as if Luis had demanded the tea, and Luis couldn’t bear it. Karim being nice to him was just too much.
“No, that’s okay!” He said too loudly. Karim stopped, turned to him with confusion writ between his heavy brows. “I think I’m finished anyway, I don’t need, um, anything else.”
“Are you sure? It’s no trouble,” Karim said.
“It’s okay. I should really get going anyway.” Luis sat up straighter, tried to look less like an invalid.
Karim came back to the bed for the tray. “We don’t mind if you stay for a while longer, rest.”
Luis dropped his eyes to the comforter. It was light beige with gold filigree designs stitched on. It looked well made, expensive. He felt bad that he was dirtying it up with his sweaty, unwashed self.
“You were Spiked,” Karim went on, “and Julien would feel better if you took more time to rest. You don’t work on weekends, right?”
Luis didn’t. “No.”
“It’s really no inconvenience,” Julien said, “for you to stay.”
If only it were that simple.
“I really can’t,” Luis said helplessly. His anxiety was ratcheting back up, his heart starting to pound in his chest. He took a breath, and then another. He wanted to wrap his arms around himself, but they were both looking at him.
His condition was terminal, and every time he delayed treatment, he was making it worse. Shortening his lifespan. The ticking clock, running down.
Every specialist he’d ever seen had been extremely clear on the long-term effects. The best thing he could do for himself was follow a strict treatment plan, mitigate the damage the best he could.
But it was depressing knowing that even if he did his absolute best, following all the instructions to the letter, his disease would still kill him.
Eventually his body would collect too much damage, something would go wrong somewhere and he’d be done.
After a lifetime of needles and doctors visits and medications and pain, there’d be no relief.
And he was so, so sick of it. Some days he didn’t want to even try anymore.
“Why?” Karim asked softly. There was confusion and frustration on his face. It was a relief to see something that wasn’t pity.
But Luis couldn’t answer that question. The one big rule was that he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about his condition, let alone a vampire–two vampires. His mother had drilled that into him.
“Um. It’s personal,” Luis said.
“Personal? What the fuck does that mean?” Karim asked, but now he was getting irritated.
Luis’s breaths started coming shorter. His thoughts kept circling the problem.
He could call a car, but could he walk to the car?
Could he walk from the car to his apartment?
He was on the second floor. If at any point between here and his apartment he collapsed, someone was going to call an ambulance, and he’d probably need them to.
Then he’d be in the hospital. They’d call his mother.
They’d call his mother.
But he couldn’t stay here. He needed his kit. He needed, at the very least, his medication and his syringes. His tester.
There was a half-truth he could tell. Maybe. If he trusted them.
Did he trust them?