When I did start to move, it wasn’t toward his closet like it should’ve been. It was in the direction of his bathroom, where he remained helpless and sick.
I cursed myself for being so stupid, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk away from him. I wasn’t like him. I wasn’t the type of person to leave someone to suffer.
He’d been like that once.
It shouldn’t have been enough, but there I was, standing in the doorway before I could bring myself to change my mind. He glanced up at me through tear-filled eyes, and Isaw the shock cross his expression in the seconds before his stomach started to empty itself all over again.
Run.
I needed to run. I had to run.
I walked toward his bathroom sink, crouching down to get a washcloth from beneath it. I ran the cold water over it, soaking it before wringing it out. I went to him, hesitating. It wasn’t like I’d never helped a frat brother out when he’d vomited his guts for, and I’d always had a strong stomach. I could deal with throw-up, even if I liked it about as well as the average person.
“Shh,” I said. I swallowed hard then stepped closer, running the cloth along his forehead. “Shh. It’s okay. Come here.”
He turned, his eyes stunned. “Toby, wh?—”
“Hush,” I interrupted him. “Let me clean you up a little.”
Before he could argue, I started to wipe his face. Eyes first, then his nose, then his cheeks, then his mouth.
He retched again, and I pulled away. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
Until I said the words, I hadn’t realized just how true they were. I wasn’t going anywhere, not while he was like this. Maybe after I’d helped him into bed and he was lost to sleep…
But I knew I wouldn’t leave him there alone until I was sure he was okay. I couldn’t imagine being left there like this, all alone and unable to take care of myself…
Why the fuck did I care? He’d left me alone and cold, tormented with the enemas he’d purposely made as painful as possible. He’d done so much to me, and I shouldn’t have given a single fuck. I should’ve felt triumphant.
There were so many things I should’ve felt, so many things I should’ve done.
There I was, stupid enough to go so far as to rinse the cloth off so I’d be there to wipe his face again. After all he’d done to me, I was there.
Why?
I didn’t have the answer. I didn’t know.
I realized that if I tried to figure it out, I’d drive myself crazy. I just had to accept that I was doing this and go with it — or not. I could just leave…
No. I couldn’t.
I wouldn’t.
I took in a deep breath, telling him to sit up so I could flush the toilet and wipe his face clean again.
“Why?” he choked out.
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice a little sharper than I’d intended. “I’m going to help you to the bed when you’re done and get you some water. We’ll see if you can keep it down. Okay?”
He nodded wordlessly, still looking stunned.
He didn’t have time to think about it again.
I didn’t know how long I stayed there, soothing him while he got sick over and over until there was nothing left in his stomach and he was only dry heaving. Over and over, I wiped his face clean; over and over, I whispered that it would be okay, that I was there, that he didn’t have anything to worry about.
When he finally went a few minutes without getting sick, I helped him sit up again. “You done?” I asked softly, wiping his face once more with the freshly cleaned cloth.
He nodded. “I think so,” he rasped. “Fuck.”
