Thanks to muffin_donat2007 for the beautiful banners. Author's Note: Sorry it has taken me so long to update, everyone. I had tons of problems with my old laptop, but now I have a new one, so hopefully this will speed up the updating process for me. **** Brian's POV I've been praising the porcelain god, ever since Justin left the loft yesterday. I haven't left the floor of the bathroom yet; for fear that I would throw up on the way back to my bed, and then throw up again when I lied down in my bed. So I just stay on the ground, hugging the toilet as if it were my best friend. Suddenly, as I feel more bile rise in my throat, I hear the sound of someone pounding on my door. But since I'm throwing up everything in my stomach, I can't answer it. However, it's apparently not Michael, when after several moments the pounding stops. Then I know that Michael has arrived when I hear his key in the lock. I hear Michael and then Justin call out to me, and I yell out, "FUCK OFF!" Michael completely ignores me, and I hear him setting something down. It's no doubt some type of food concoction that Debbie cooked up, and decided that I just HAD to have. But the smell is making me even sicker, so I kick the bathroom door closed with my foot. Then I hear both of them approach the bathroom, and I call out weakly, "Stay the fuck out!" I don't want either of them seeing me like this, but it's not like I can help it. And as expected, Michael comes bursting into the bathroom anyway. "Michael, I said for you to stay out! I also don't need any of Debbie's weird concoctions. I can't stomach anything, anyway." The last part is mumbled, because other than when I ate with Justin, I haven't been able to eat anything. Just the smell of food, makes me bolt for the bathroom. Oh god. My head hurts, and so does the rest of my body. I can't sleep, since I vomit like every ten minutes. I haven't slept since Justin was here, and I can't eat, god I sound like a love struck schoolgirl. Oh god. Suddenly I'm leaning over the toilet again, as my stomach revolts again. After all of the crap that I've spewed up between yesterday and already today, I'm surprised that I even have anything left in me to throw up. But sadly, I do still have something in me. I hear Michael freaking out, asking if he should call an ambulance. I quickly shake my head no, before turning back to the toilet. Justin is standing there for a moment, as if still taking in the situation. I want to tell him not to stare, but I can't. Suddenly, a moment later I feel a hand on my back. I slowly look up, and my eyes lock with blue ones. The feel of Justin rubbing circles on my back, helps to calm me a little. So as I calm down, I start to throw up less and less. When I feel that I've finished throwing up for now, Justin tries to get me to get up and go lie down in my bed, but I refuse. "It's not going to work." The words come out weak, and it's because I barely have the strength to hold myself up as I throw up. If I try and go back to my bed now and lie down, when I have to throw up again, I won't be able to get out of my bed and make it to the bathroom in time to throw up. Justin tries again to get me to agree, but I just shake my head no. Justin takes a glass from Michael, who stays standing at the door. He's ready to bolt at the first sign that I'm throwing up again. Then the blonde kneels down beside me, and places the glass to my lips. I take a small sip of the cool liquid. The cold water feels great against my throat, and it helps a little to get rid of the aftertaste of vomit in my mouth. When Justin puts the glass to my lips once more, I suddenly react as if just realizing something. I don't want them seeing me like this. Fuck! So I push Justin away. It's not much of a push since I'm so weak from the treatments, but Justin seems to get the point anyway. "We've been here for fifteen minutes, Brian. Don't start trying to push us away now. We just want to try and help you." I push Justin away again, but this time he just sets the glass down on the floor a few feet away from us. Other than that, the blonde doesn't move to leave the bathroom or my loft. "What are you doing? Why are you doing this?" I can't help but ask. What is in this for him? What does Justin get out of helping me, or trying to help me? Does he feel sorry for me? Bingo, that's it! I shove Justin away from me as roughly as I can, given my current sorry state. I growl, "I don't need your fucking pity!" Justin looks at me and then asks, "Who the hell said anything about pity? I just see a friend that needs some help, and so I want to try and help you out. What is so fucking wrong about that?" What's wrong about it, is that I'm not used to people being nice to me for no reason. Usually when a person is nice to me, it's only because they want something from me. So really, why should Justin be any different from all of those other people? I don't know, but deep down inside of me, something tells me that he really is. "I just want to see my son, and be left alone." My voice is soft again, when I say it, because I now have no more fight left in me today. I sag against the toilet, and Justin rushes forward probably thinking that I'm about to pass out on the floor again. While I feel like I just might do that, I have to make Justin realize that I'll end up being okay. That I only feel this way whenever I smell food, or right after a treatment. I also want to be able to see Gus. I miss being able to see him every single day. I know that Gus is scared of me, especially when he saw me lying in the hospital bed. But that is in the past. What matters now, is that these treatments hurry up and end, so that I can stop living on the toilet. I want my fucking life back. I want to go back to being 'Brian fucking Kinney.' I don't want to end up being a one ball wonder. Fuck, I just want to be normal like everyone else. Is that too much of me to ask? Sometimes I feel that it is, and other times I feel like I'm getting the wrong end of the stick. "I understand that you miss Gus. He misses you as well. But you can't be around him right now. I know that you don't want to risk a chance of Gus getting sick, do you?" I shake my head no at Justin's question, and wish for the millionth time that none of this crap was happening. When I realize that I haven't thrown up in five minutes, I lie down on the floor, and press my cheek against it. The feeling of the cold floor against my warm cheek, feels so fucking great. "Brian, I think you should try to go and lie down in your bed again. You'll be more comfortable." I shake my head no, and remain on the bathroom floor. "Not moving," I croak out, knowing that the moment I step out of the bathroom, I'll just need to throw up again. My cleaning lady is gonna have a fucking fit when I call her to come and clean up my throw up and wash my sheets. "Brian, I really don't think it's a good idea for you to stay on the floor." I turn and look at Justin. "I'm not moving from this spot. The moment I leave, I'll start to vomit again. If there is anything that I need to sign, put it on the computer desk and I'll sign it when I'm done throwing up." Which will end up being around 4 tomorrow morning. Then I get up at 5, and shower and go to Kinnetik. I spare a glance at Michael, who is still hovering near the door. "Mikey, this isn't a fucking spectator sport. Sit the fuck down in the living room, or go the fuck home to your hubby!" Michael nods and then says that he just wanted to come and see if I was okay. Then he says that he'll tell Debbie that I'm fine, so that she won't show up and try to help make me feel better. As Michael goes to leave the bathroom, I call out, "Take the fucking food with you!" I know that Debbie sent him here with something. Just the smell of it, makes me turn back to the toilet and spew more of my insides. After a little while, I start to dry heave. I have nothing left in my stomach to throw up, and know that I'll end up being dehydrated soon. Fuck, if I'm gonna pass out again; I'd at least like to have the decency to do it alone. But I can't, because Michael still hasn't left, and it doesn't look like Justin is going to be leaving soon. So I stay sagged against the toilet when my stomach stops rebelling, and I tell Justin that he should go home to Kyla. "She needs you, and besides, you've been spending more time with me lately, than with her. She's your daughter, and kids grow up so fast. So go home to your daughter, Justin. I'll be fine. My last treatment for this week is tomorrow. I won't be sick like this, and I'll be spending some time with Gus finally." Justin looks like he wants to argue, and so I just shake my head no. I finally hear the door to the loft close, signaling that Michael has finally left. I let out a sigh of relief, and fall to the floor. Justin catches me before I hit the floor, but I'm so fucking far gone, that I don't care. If I would have hit the floor, at least I would know that I would have finally passed out. But Justin just keeps his arms around me, holding me up so that I don't hit the floor. I'm glad that he's here, but I'm also pissed off as hell, that he and Michael had to see me this way. As less than perfect, when one of them already knows all about my fucked up childhood. I sigh softly, letting my body rest against Justin's. I've lost a lot of weight, and every single time that I go in for treatment, the fucking doctor tells me that I need to start putting on weight. I've asked the stupid fucker a million times, how can I put on weight, when I can barely eat in the first place? The doctor just gives me this stern look, as if I were choosing not to eat at all. I mean sure, when I'm not sick like this, I do eat only a little. But hell, I do eat. Justin decides to try again, to get me to lie down in my bed, and since I'm so fucking tired, I can no longer protest. So I let the blonde lead me to my bed, and I slowly crawl on the bed, and slide under the duvet. Justin lies down next to me, his body over the duvet. "You shouldn't have to be seeing any of this, or dealing with any of this, you know. You can still go home to Kyla and spend the night with her. I'll just end up getting up in a few minutes or an hour, and start to throw up again. Or maybe something new. I don't have anything left in me to throw up."