FALLEN (NOW PUBLISHED ON AMAZON)

50.

"It happens all the time." He informs me before I follow Ash to the loo.

"What does?" I let out before I hear Ash throwing up and I rush to his side in panic.

I see him leaning over the loo breathlessly. The bad smell gets to me, so I press the flush to wash it away and look for towels.

"Are you feeling better?" I ask him but get no response. I look at him and it takes a moment before I see him shake his head.

I take the first clean wash cloth I see, and wet it with warm water in the sink. I open the door to ask my brother a glass of water. I hear Ash throwing up again before I get back in with the water.

Inside the bathroom, I see him weakly trying to flush the loo. His hand is shaking like an old man's. I rush by his side and kneel to give him the glass of water. He takes it uncertainly, not meeting my eyes once. He takes a small sip and puts it down next to him.

I look at him a second longer to be sure he won't throw up in the next seconds and reach for his face with a tender hand. I take his chin in my hand and start wiping his sweaty face with the wet wash cloth still in my hand. His eyes are closed and I seem to want him to look at me.

"I must be reminding you even more of your mum now." I joke to him with a kind smirk on my lips.

He chuckles slightly and finally open his eyes to look at me. They are a beautiful shade of hazel that can almost seem gold in this light.

"That was not what I meant."

"I know. I'm just teasing." I smile back to him as I comb his hair out of his face with my fingers. I want to free his locks from his sweaty forehead.

He hangs his mouth open, breathing in and out slowly but loudly. He is trembling. I run the warm cloth on his forehead once again and down to his face to his neck. But even though he seems to be burning hot on the outside, I think he is freezing on the inside. I get up and take a bigger towel to cover his shoulders with. I sit back down by his side and caress his back with a hand to bring some heat to the cloth.

He turns his head to my side without looking at me. I reach for his glass of water to feed it to him. His breathing increases. He refuses it quickly. He straightens himself and leans back over the loo. A loud and guttural noise is heard, but nothing comes out.

"I hate this..." He murmurs and he finds himself under another attack which doesn't make him throw up.

He stays like this, in pain and sweating over the loo, for several minutes. Nothing is said and there's nothing to be done but wait until it passes. All that is left for me to do is to rub his back and listen to the low cries of agony he makes.

"Why are you here?" He breathes out in the loo, his voice echoing in the porcelain.

I question myself a couple of seconds as to why he would be asking me that. The answer seems obvious.

"Because I care about you."

"I'm disgusting."

"I don't mind it." I respond calmly, mirroring his lack of energy.

I continue rubbing his back until I feel his muscle tense up under my hand. He moves and grabs a hold of the toilet lid before he throws up very loudly. Despite of myself, I see the mix of colours of his vomit, hinting me the variety of drinks he's had tonight.

"It's OK. Let it all out." I tell him as I kneel next to him and push back the towel on his shoulders so that it doesn't fall in the loo or get dirtied with vomit.