Skips A Beat ::Wattys2016::

Chapter 3

"Blood Pressure." Michael says, downing a pill. "Heart rate. Heart rhythm. Blood clots. Inflammation." He names each pill's use before taking it. I stay seated on the toilet lid, my head leaning back against the wall. He glances over at me while brushing his teeth. "You okay, babe?"

"Yeah, I'm good." I say, forcing a smile out. I'm actually, technically, fine. I'm just getting a little sick from sleeping outside. I cough once softly.

"Are you getting sick?" He asks, tilting his head. His hair moves into his face. It's still flat, he didn't do anything to it yet. It's also blond again. Not that I would ever tell him this, but I think that blond and red are the best on him, and he needs to be careful with the green when it starts coming out, because it looks like vomit. Speaking of vomit. My stomach feels like it thinks it's a good idea.

"Little bit, maybe." I admit. Mikey sighs, opening up the medicine cabinet.

"Mom has a lot of shit. I bet something could make you feel better." He says, looking around. "I mean, the top and middle shelf, those are all mine. But, the, uh, the other shelf could help. Maybe." He bites his lip as I stare into the cabinet. He's never actually let me see everything in there. I had no clue there was so much he took. I see the things that he takes as he takes them, but nothing more than that.

"Do you take all of these?" I ask. Looking at all the bottles with his name.

"Uh, no. Some of them are here because of, you know, reference." He moves his hand to the back of his neck, rubbing. "Some of them I haven't used since the first diagnoses. But, we kept them."

"Oh. So, which ones do you actually use?"

"They're labeled. Everything on the top left is in current use. So that's these ten," He pulls out the bottles. "If they have a blue dot, I have used them before and they work. That's so that they can re-prescribe it if they need to. If they have a red dot on them, they didn't work, such as, this," he pulls down a bottle with a big red dot on it, "it's supposed to make the chest pain stop, all it did was make me dizzier."

"So all of these didn't help?" I ask. He shakes his head. "I didn't know that any of them didn't work. Why didn't you tell me that some of these didn't work?"

"I don't want you worrying. I really only told you about my heart because you were with us when I collapsed that first time." I wince at him saying that first time. "You worry way too much, and telling you about all of the medications would have been bad for you." He explains.

"I do not worry." I defend myself.

"Yes, you do." Michael laughs. "At the zoo, you made me use the stupid old people cart, I repeat made me, because walking is way too much for me."

"That's not even a good excuse. That's a lot of walking that you shouldn't be doing, and you know that!" I bite my lip. "God, could you have imagined if you would have had trouble that day? Oh God. I didn't even remember to bring the chart that day, so if you would have done something bad, then I wouldn't have been able to record it." I shudder at the thought.

"That's worrying." Michael says, tossing me some OTC drug to help with my sickness. "You need to, just not worry about me, okay?"

"That's not even remotely possible, kitten." I say, opening up the bottle.

"Why not?"

"Because I care," I swallow the required two pills and add, "a lot."

"Well, stop caring so damn much." He takes the medicine back roughly, putting all the bottles away. "You'll die younger than me if you keep worrying all the time." He laughs at the joke he made, but I stare at him. That's not funny. Death jokes aren't funny. He looks over at me, the smile fading from his face. "What, too soon?" He asks, and I nod. The jokes that he makes about dying will never not be too soon. I stare down at the sink, suddenly feeling like bursting into tears.