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. Hetook 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.
