The Seven Sins

vi. gluttony

He did ask Pipita for Lionel's number. A week later.

It was not that hard, after all, Lionel has seen him at his worst and at his most vulnerable. He was at home currently, he was throwing up whole flowers of the beautiful red amaryllis. Sometimes one or two, but those sessions in the middle of the night where he couldn't stop were painful. He'd throw up eight, sometimes ten flowers. He still didn't know exactly what happened that day after the mess he made with Lionel. He somehow just found himself on his couch after fainting, and he physically felt ill.

Four months, his subconscious whispered, just four more months of this agony and then you're going to go.

Currently sitting on the couch, with his legs up and covered with a blanket, he took his phone and searched for Lionel's name on his list. He barely had the power to do anything these days; he couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep, he'd just throw up over and over and his frame became smaller, feeble and fragile, his cheeks sunk in and his eyes held no emotion whatsoever. His chest hurt in a way that sometimes he would wake up in so much pain he'd scream and cry, and then go to the toilet to vomit the flowers.

It was an endless circle, and he couldn't decide whether he wanted to live or die. He called Lionel anyway. He picked up after three rings.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Lionel. It's Cristiano."

There was silence stretching all over and Cristiano tiredly played with some loose threads on the blanket, waiting for him to answer.

"How are you?"

Cristiano blinked. He didn't really expect that, but then again, what did he expect? For him to flip him off? To come to his house right away? This needed time. Whatever Cristiano was trying to build, a relationship that resembled a paper fort with some tape, he guessed, it took time, and he didn't have time. It was all so fucked up and pathetic.

"Not good."

As if on cue, he let out an ugly sounding cough.

"I just... I don't really understand what's going on."

Cristiano heard the unanswered question; can you explain?

"It's, I lo-" And Cristiano couldn't finish the sentence.

"What I told you last time, the L-word, it's real. And it really, really hurts. Because the only way for me to actually get better is for you to return the feelings."

"Wait, wait, I heard it's not the only way. There's a surgery-"

"That's not an option."

Silence again.

"What are you afraid of?"

Cristiano couldn't just answer to this question. He was afraid of many things; of death, of his cold heart after the surgery, of him hurting Junior, of Lionel not loving him back...

"Everything, querido. Everything."

Cristiano felt bile rising in his throat and excused himself, leaving his phone on the table with Lionel still connected, and went to the toilet to throw up the amaryllis once again. This time it was two leaves and one whole flower. He was lucky.

"Sorry, I-I had to-"

"It's okay. Don't worry."

There was such simplicity in Lionel's words that he almost believed in them. Almost. And then he started crying. He was mad at himself for being so emotional and needy of cuddling, he'd usually just cuddle the pillow to his chest, pretending it was Lionel. Junior was long gone, he was with his mother and sister in Madeira. He didn't need to look at his dying father all day.

"Lionel, I-"

But Cristiano didn't know what to say, he started sobbing and wheezing. He wanted him, all of him, and for the whole past week he was thinking how he just wanted Lionel, his simple presence, as if that would heal everything. He knew it wouldn't, and besides, Lionel had his own life, probably a girl to tend to, and the last thing he needed was a really sick Cristiano on his shoulders.

"Calm down, Cris."

Cristiano was surprised by the nickname that his nreathing hitched and he coughed again, a little bit of blood spluttering in his hand.

"Can I call you Cris?"

Cristiano felt his eyes prickle again and he found himself mumbling a 'yes'. Whatever this was, in four months Lionel would get attached to him just enough to be out of reach of real love, and then Cristiano would die, and Lionel would get the disease, and Junior too, and his mother and his sister, and numerous other people he didn't even want to count. He felt like his world was closing in.

There was a burning want etched in his chest, but he knew he was being selfish. He didn't stop wanting, though.

"Cris, I want to see you."

It took him by surprise. What does he say? Does he want him to stay away? Four months was a short period. What is he supposed to say?

"Text me your address. I'll take a week off. I want to see you."

Apparently he didn't have to say anything. Lionel just invited himself to Cristiano's house.

"Okay."

Lionel hung up. For the first time in a long month, Cristiano felt some positivity run through him. Maybe he could get better. Just maybe. A sliver of hope ran through him, but died down when he started getting nauseous.

He went to the bathroom and bent over the toilet, waiting for the wave to wash over him. Unexplainable warmth spread through his chest, one word flashing in his mind; want.

Lionel was offering and he wanted it all.

When he vomited, he saw strange looking yellow flowers, together in small bundles, covered with streaks of blood. Vibrant yellow, and they smelled incredibly sweet despite the bile, like honey. He almost wanted to eat them all back.

Honeysuckles.