Never a Burden (Ponyboy Sickfic)

Chapter 3: Trying to Hide

I awoke to a swirling, an endlessly swirling sensation of nausea gripping at my throbbing belly, my mind so foggy that I was hardly aware of where I was. I had no sense of time either. All I knew was that my luck was slipping through my fingertips, evaporating into nothingness. I needed a bathroom, fast.

With a convulsive twist of my stomach, I burst out of the blankets coiled around me, the weakness in my legs passing by unnoticed as I blindly staggered to the bathroom, pleading that I'd make it in time. I managed to shut the door behind me before collapsing in front of the toilet, my breath quavering as my entire frame shook with feverish shivers, hunching over the basin, my arms still curled around my abdomen for dear life. Bile rose in my throat and I fought to hold it down, yet it was no use; with an anguished whimper, bile came rushing up, burning my throat in the process as it connected with the water, causing me to moan in discomfort.

I continued to cough up bile until a cramping sensation captured my stomach, causing me to begin dry heaving. Tears came tumbling down, mingling with the sweat that cascaded down my cheeks as I choked and sobbed, begging for the excruciating pain to end. As I retched once more, trying to fight the omission of my abdomen, I heard the sound of a fist tapping on the door. I froze, my eyes widening in panic.

"You ok in there, Ponyboy?" Through my frazzled mind, I knew the tone belonged to none other than my oldest brother, Darry.

At first, I didn't answer, struggling to fight the uprising sensations of nausea churning inside me. My frame tensed even more when another voice filtered through the air, softer and gentler than the last; Soda.

"Ponyboy?"

"Go away," I croaked, hoping that it hadn't come off too harsh. I was desperate. I felt guilty for being so sick, practically squirming at the thought of being seen like this, weak and frail. Greasers aren't weak. My brothers don't need anymore burdens. I'd rather suffer alone than to deal with the humiliation of being sick in front of the people I look up to and admire.

To my horror and dismay, the door behind me opened, shattering my pride in an instant. I tensed at the touch of cool fingers caressing my firry cheeks, my neck, the sweat seeping into my clothes, drizzling down my back. A strangled cry passed my lips at the realisation of my two brothers at my side and the gang standing in the doorway. I wanted to curl into myself, to be anywhere but there. What I really longed for was for my brothers to hold me in such a comforting embrace that all my fear and pain would wane away. Yet I couldn't deal with the shame of it. I didn't want them to see me; they wouldn't understand.

"Please," I begged feebly, suffocating on my own sobs and ragged breaths. "I-I don't...want you to see." Fighting the urge to gag, my body quaked with raking sobs I couldn't hold back, the tears gushing all the more with my own self-pity and humiliation.

"Ssh, baby," Soda comforted, sympathy dense in his facial features as he loomed above me, easing soothing circles onto my back. "You're ok."

I wasn't aware of Darry's momentary absence until a felt a frigid washcloth being placed on the back of my neck, a firm hand holding it down. I gasped, stiffening at the touch. "Easy, Pony," Darry murmured. "Just relax."

I bowed my head, squeezing my eyes shut in embarrassment. I didn't want to see the disappointment. I was astonished however, when I felt a hand slither under my chin, raising my head slightly, yet not so much that I would lose my centre of gravity.

"Pony, look at me," Darry cooed, his tone barely rising above a whisper. It eased me into security, and even though I hesitated for a moment, gradually I opened my eyes, slitting against the agonising light. The shards of teal ice in Darry's eyes had melted away into burning embers of passion and worry, the harshness in his features dissipating into nothingness. He drew me to his chest, cupping my forehead in an effort to keep me steady. I didn't retaliate, knowing that any sharp movements would risk agitating my stomach once more.