TBBM XXXIX. The Real Him

"Cut it, Hicks!," his face warped into full on disgust. "I'm not listening anymore!"

"He sipped it quickly to the last drop---"

"Hickey! I'm telling you---" he ran towards the comfort room.

I tried to stop him halfway, teasingly. I only rarely won over Red so I thought I should push it further. I went on carelessly. I made him listen to the disgusting ending so much that he failed to hold it down anymore.

He puked on me!

"Aaaaaaa," he fell on the floor, gripping his stomach in pain.

"R-Red!" I half-screamed. "I'll call the doctor in."

In no time, the doctor came to treat him. I watched there in the corner almost breathlessly. They gave him some more medicine through his IV. I felt sorry for pushing it further. Red came from a rich family, I should've known he had a weak stamina to things that were gross.

A custodian came to clean the floor and I realised I, too, needed some cleaning.

"Doctor, how is he?" I asked.

"Don't worry too much. It seems his stomach just got overwhelmed by the food."

"This is his first actual meal," I spoke to myself.

Soon as they were gone, I washed myself in the bathroom. I had nothing to wear so I picked up my cardigan---which had somehow dried now in the conditioning---and buttoned it down on the front.

I felt so bad about Red so I called James for relief. I noticed his last two messages only then.

"Jap?" he answered.

"Are you mad at me?" I asked.

"Frankly, I'm disappointed but not mad. No," he sounded tender-hearted.

"Can you not be disappointed, too?"

"Why? What happened?" he asked. I could hear him smile. "I'm on my way to tell Mom."

"Thanks," I sighed.

"Is he still not recovered?"

"No. Actually, I did something awful---"

"That's good. You should get back to him---"

"No," I sat down guiltfully. "I told him about the legend of the porridge---do you remember that?"

"Yeah. I do. And?"

"He couldn't take it. I narrated it while he was having porridge himself. He threw up."

"He did?" James was laughing. "I don't wish him ill but---"

"I probably should stay the night," I overtalked.

"You sure?" he sounded even more dismayed. "Doesn't he have a family?"

"His dad might come. But, I feel really guilty nonetheless."

James seemed to have understood and let me---but I knew he wasn't so happy of this. He didn't trust Red. I knew he was just concerned that Red might cause me to hurt again.

I sat to beside Red. It was seven in the evening. He had been sleeping for about an hour now. He hadn't moved an inch. I touched his forehead to gauge his temperature. He was better.

I laid my head next to his. He slept so soundly. He had a clear skin, tall nose, prominent eyebrows and a protuberant trachea. He looked like a harmless angel when he slept.

"I'm sorry, Boasty," I whispered to his ears.

Dub dub. Dub dub.

Dub dub. Dub dub.

Just watching him up close made my heartbeat race. He must be near perfect to make a girl's heart flutter like this.

I finger-combed his hair away from his face. I liked it when his hair was brushed down for it made him look kind and amicable. But I liked it when he wore it brushed up, too. It mirrored his character, his strength, his cool.

"Preppy. Preppy," he suddenly spoke in his sleep, almost inaudible. "Stephie left me, Preppy."

I stopped combing through his hair soon as I heard him. A part of me broke that he pined for another; the other part of me shattered because he apparently still suffered from that old love. Despite the airy way he usually projected himself in front of others, deep inside, he was just this child, broken, sad and afraid to be left alone.

This was probably him---the real him.

"Hsssh," I hushed and continued combing through his hair. "I'm here. I'll just be here."

Dear Saint,

Please cure him. I don't want him sick.