Party 'til you pass out / When the party's over

Alison

The lemon-poppy cake had been a success with Oliver, and I loved watching him eat it with joy and hear him reminisce about his youth because of it. But that was hours ago, and right now his mood was below zero. He was restless, agitated, troubled, and his entire body was shivering. He seemed really uncomfortable, and no matter what I did, I couldn't help him. It broke me to see him like this and not be able to help him, but he also just wouldn't let me. Eventually I gave up and stopped asking him if he wanted or needed anything, and decided to just be there for him. So now I found myself on the couch with him in my arms, his head on my chest and our legs entangled under a blanket.

His empty eyes stared at the tv without taking in what was on, and he closed them for a moment every time his body was overtaken by an unsettling shiver.

'How long will this phase take?,' I ask quietly after another intense shiver and a soft, uncomfortable grunt from Oliver. He shrugged tiredly.

'A day or three. It will ease down after that,' he muttered.

'Okay, so, one day down, two more to go,' I said, trying to sound positive. Oliver just gave me a triggered look. 'You can do this. You're gonna be fine.'

'It will get worse than this,' he said with trouble in his eyes.

'And I'll be right here with you.' I kissed his forehead and ran my hand through his hair. It was getting too long, the bleached ends contrasting with the dark roots. 'Let me do your hair in a few days.'

'Hmm, sure.' Oliver closed his eyes and hid his face in my neck, and I focused back on the tv. It made me think of almost a year ago, when we were lying like this too before he would leave for a festival run. Although that was a better time. He had been fine then, happy even.

'Oli, love. Let's go to bed. The more you sleep, the faster it will pass.' He huffed quietly.

'You think I'll sleep feeling like this?'

'I sure do hope so for you,' I said. Another huff, a soft smile, but no movement.

'I'm comfortable right where I am,' he whispered.

'Okay,' I just said to keep him that way. He eventually fell asleep for a while, until he half shot up, making me jump a little. 'What's wrong?,' I asked at his pale face. He shook his head and quickly got up, staggering to the bathroom in the hallway, where I heard him throw up.

'Oh, shit...' I got up to him and found him sitting on the floor, his head against the wall and his hands in front of his face. 'Wait here –'

'I'm not going anywhere,' he muttered sarcastically before leaning back over the toilet again. I looked back for a second when I heard him throw up again, wetting a washing cloth with cold water and filling a glass.

'Here,' I told him, sitting on my knees in front of him. I softly dabbed his face with the cold cloth, wiping away some tears and little droplets of sweat. As I did so, Oliver opened his eyes and stared at me. Our eyes met; mine with a careful, loving look versus his pained, troubled stare. I gave him a small smile and wiped his mouth, then handed him the glass of water. He took a few sips and sat back with his eyes closed again.

'How many times have we been sitting on the bathroom floor like this with you taking care of me?,' he croaked. I frowned.

'Eh...'

'Four,' he answered. He opened his eyes and looked at me. 'The first time when I overdosed at the Warped after party.' I made a face and looked away from him, not really wanting to think back to that night. 'The second time when you stayed with me the first night on weekend leave from the clinic. I went into a panic attack, broke the mirror and had cut my hand, and you admitted that you loved me –' A careful smile curled his lips.