Category Linkin Park
“You okay in there baby?”
“Open the door.”
I hear the bathroom door being unlocked and walk inside to find him slumped over the toilet, looking pale, tired and clutching at the toilet seat for support. He’s been like this for a couple of weeks now and to say I was worried would be an understatement, but he refused to see a doctor. He keeps assuring me he’s okay. At first he said it was something he’d eaten, then it was a bug and when no one else got sick he said it was travel sickness. Yes I admit living on a bus can make everyone a little nauseous from time to time, but it usually lasts three hours, not three weeks.
Everything was great; sure we had problems but what couple doesn’t? We’ve been together almost four months now, but have been in love much longer. The few months of blissful happiness now suddenly feels so short. I want to scream at the unfairness of the world as I watch my lover suffer. I hate myself for taking so long admitting to my feelings, wasting all that time I could have been holding, kissing and loving him.
“Want some water?”
He nods, trying to smile as he takes the glass from me, only to throw up its contents seconds later.
I want to cry, but I have to be strong.
The site and smell of vomit is now something I’m used to, as is supporting his body when he has another dizzy spell. He doesn’t appear to be in pain; maybe he hides that from me. He’s constantly tired, I’m surprised he hasn’t dosed off behind his drums. He’ll spend the entire bus journey from venue to venue sleeping against me, waking up only to play the show and then falling asleep as soon as he either gets back on the bus or arrives at a hotel.
“Let me call a doctor.”
He shakes his head again and tells me he’s okay, as I sit behind him and rub his back.
He’s not okay, this isn’t normal. He leans back against me, letting me loosely wrap an arm around him and making small circles with my fingertips on his stomach. He closes his eyes and sighs, resting his head on my shoulder and twisting to softly kiss my neck. Our love is still so new, so precious; I’m not ready to lose it. Now that I finally have him in my life I’m not ready to let go, I don’t want to say goodbye, I can’t.
I want to cry, but I have to be strong; he needs me.
I cherish every moment I have him in my life, quietly keeping those fears to myself as I run my fingers through his soft hair. I don’t remember his hair being this soft before His skin feels softer too, so delicate. I want to cover him with stickers saying ‘fragile’ and ‘handle with care’, wrap him in bubbles and feed him marshmallows.
“Come back to bed.”
He moans softly, acknowledging that I’d spoken but too tired to move. I lift us both up and guide him back to the bedroom, thankful we’re in a hotel tonight and I don’t have to lift him into one of our bunks. I wrap the sheets around us and turn off the light, not that it makes much difference as the sun has been up a few hours now. He rolls towards me and gently presses his lips against mine, kissing me lightly and slowly.
“I love you.”
It doesn’t matter how many times I hear it, it always feels like the first time. We agreed that we wouldn’t over use those words; we wouldn’t use them freely and throw them away easily. Just because we don’t say it, doesn’t mean we don’t feel it.
We each know how the other feels. He knows I couldn’t love anyone or anything more than him and I only have to look into his eyes and see how much he cares. The first words we say to each other is usually ‘good morning’, before we go to sleep: ‘good night’, after an argument: ‘I’m sorry’ and whilst making love, well I guess that depends on the position, location and amount of lust. ‘I love you’ is only said when there is something important to say, we don’t want to water down the meaning. ‘I love you’: is an expression of love, our love is a gift and shouldn’t be taken for granted.
“Don’t cry,” he smiles wiping away my tears.
“I can’t help it,” I smile weakly, gasping his face and pulling it close to kiss his lips “I’m scared.”
“I don’t want to be without you.”
“You won’t be.”
“But you’re si-”
“Shh” he silences me with kiss and pulls away to smile at me.
How does he continue to smile? All I want to do is selfishly hold on to him as I cry about how cruel God is. I’ve only just found him, why does he have to be taken away?
How does he stay so strong when physically he’s so weak? In the weeks he’s been sick he’s never complained about being in pain, cried or felt sorry for himself. He’s clung to me for support but never frowned, his tired eyes still smile when he looks at me.
He tries to smile again, another attempt to reassure me, but grasps his stomach and quickly runs out of the bed and into the bathroom again. For the second time in an hour I find myself following and sat behind him, stroking his back as he vomits.
“Go back to bed.”
He doesn’t want me to see him like this; I think he’s afraid I won’t be attracted to him anymore if I see him in this state. I’d happily support him through this for the rest of my life if it meant he was with me.
“I’m not leaving,” I whisper, kissing the back of his neck “let me call a doctor.”
He shakes his head and tries to speak, but yet again slumps forward to be sick again.
“You’re not fine,” I say before he has chance to say otherwise “this isn’t normal, why won’t you let me help you?”
“I think you’ve helped enough.” He smiles after wiping his mouth with a tissue and leans back against me.
I’ve helped enough?
I don’t understand. Have I done something wrong?
He turns slightly and presses the side of his face against my chest. I kiss his forehead and hold him tightly. If I’d done something wrong he wouldn’t be this snugly or affectionate; he’d sulk and make me feel guilty.
“Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m afraid to.”
“I don’t know how you’ll react” he sobs quietly. His tears surprise me but yet I find them strangely comforting, he’s beginning to open up to me.
“How I’ll react?”
“I’m scared that you will be angry.”
Why would I be angry at him for being sick?
He said I helped enough, that it’s my fault. Have I made him ill?
I was tested, I’m clean; I can’t have given him an STD.
“I won’t be” I smile trying to hide my fears and kiss his cheek
“whatever it is, we’ll get through this together, just tell me what’s wrong.”
Did I hear that correctly?
“I didn’t want to tell you like this” he cries pointing at the toilet.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen Mike…”
“You’re having my baby?”
“Yes,” he nods trying to sniff back tears.
He isn’t dying. He isn’t sick. He isn’t leaving me. He’s having our baby.
“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” I say wrapping my arms tightly around him again, now realizing in my shocked state I’d let go.
“You’re not mad?”
“No” I almost scream as I kiss his face, not caring what part of his skin my lips touched “why would I be mad?”
“Because we didn’t plan this, we’ve not been together that long and hadn’t even discussed children yet.”
“Sweetie-Pie, we’ve been together for ten years, well not together-together, but you know what I mean” I laugh and kiss him again. “And just because a baby is an accident doesn’t necessarily mean it’s unwanted.”
“So you’re happy about this?”
“I’m very, very, very happy” I say kissing him as I speak, unable to stop myself grinning “let’s get married.”
“What?” he pulls away from me and stares at me with his eyes wide.
“Let’s get married” I repeat, trying to look serious but also trying not to laugh and scream to the world that I’m the happiest man on earth.
“Yes” I pull him back towards me and kiss his lips “I love you and want you to marry me.”
“We don’t have to get married just because I’m pregnant”
“I know” I smile and kiss him again. “These past few weeks I thought you were really sick and the thought of being without you was killing me, it hurts to just think of a day when I’ll wake up and not be able to reach out to find you lying beside me. I don’t ever want to lose you; I want you with me forever and being pregnant just makes you even more special.”
He wipes the tears from my face and holds my head as he rubs our noses together.
“Will you marry me?”