Fall Again (a Michael Jackson fanfiction)

46. Michaels not feeling well

Hopes POV 🥀

Michael seemed to enjoy the cheese toastie I made him, he finished it so quickly I was worried he'd get indigestion.

Especially considering he'd just had his meds - which often made him a bit nauseous.

I was right to worry, about 15 minutes later his face was as white as a sheet, and he was breathing quickly.
"Mike? Michael?" I quickly sat beside him and put a hand on his back.

"I think ... I ate too fast.." he burped and covered his mouth.

"Do you need to be sick?"

He nodded and I could see he was in no state to walk to the toilet, so I hurried down to the kitchen, pulled out a large plastic mixing bowl and ran back upstairs.

His hand was on his stomach and his face was now pale green, I shoved the bowl under his mouth and he burped again, then moaned.

"It's okay, let it out if you need too, hun." I soothed, rubbing his back.

I hoped he wouldn't be sick, he was thin and malnourished enough as it is, he needed to keep food down to help him gain weight.
I also felt guilty for not encouraging him to eat slowly, and before his meds instead of after

He gagged and clung on to the bowl with clammy white hands, and I realised he was going to throw up.
I put a hand on his forehead to hold him up and tucked all his hair behind him so he wouldn't get anything in it, then helped him hold the bowl as his hands were shaking.

Then he retched horribly and sprayed vomit into the bowl, but also down the sides of the bowl and on my hand - which I wiped quickly and rubbed his back to comfort him.

He threw up again, and I pulled a hairband off my wrist and tied his hair up for him, noticing it falling in his face.

His shaking hands dropped the bowl and I quickly put my hand under his chin as he brought up more sick, catching it in my hand so we wouldn't have to change his bedsheets.

I then emptied my hand into the bowl and turned back to him, to see he was crying. "Oh Michael." His tears broke my heart and I pulled him into my arms and held him.

"I'm so sorry..." he sobbed.

I didn't know if he meant about being sick on my hand or crying - but neither was his fault. I stroked his hair - rocking him back and forth, kissing his tears away.

"I'm sorry, Mike. I should have made you eat before taking the meds instead of after."

He retched again, snot, tears and sick dripping off his chin, and the bowl was out of my reach so I quickly put my hand beneath his chin again, but nothing came up thankfully.

He rested his head on my shoulder, sniffling. I stroked a stray curl out of his face, looking down at him as he closed his eyes, breathing heavily.

He opened them and looked at my hand, which was still a bit sicky - and said "Sorry I didn't mean to throw up on you."

"Oh Mike, it's only my hand. Don't worry about it!"

"Do you often get that with your patients?"

I giggled. "This is actually the first time. But I've seen you throw up multiple times before and it just makes me wanna hold you, it doesn't disgust me."

He smiled, then sniffed and shut his eyes again. Within minutes he was asleep.

I lifted him off me and laid him down in bed, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

I washed the bowl and my hand and then came back and sat by him, watching him sleep peacefully, then I wiped a bit of sick off his chin.

He wrinkled his nose and smiled in his sleep, and my heart melted.