Keep Breathing

LaVieEnRose

Okay. Brian shut off the TV. That's a hundred.

I sneezed for what was, apparently, the hundred and first, second, and third time. “Christ. Is it really?”

In half an hour. Are you okay?

I nodded. “Just itchy.”

This is insane. I think you're going to die. He pulled out yet another handful of tissues and stuffed them into my palm. I've known you for thirty five thousand years, I have never seen your allergies this bad.

I rubbed my face, wishing there was some way to scratch my sinuses. They've never been this bad. I don't know what's going on.

The pollen count is fucking unbelievable, but this is still pretty excessive. Jesus, bless you.

We haven't even been outside. I'd been having a rough week—allergy-wise, it was Jane's first week on earth so in other respects I was doing pretty well—but I'd woken up that Saturday so fucking miserable that Brian kept making me go over everything I'd eaten the night before, because neither of us could believe this could just be environmental. I'd taken a triple dose of Benadryl, Brian put masking tape over the seams of the windows and the balcony door and ordered me into the bathroom while he vacuumed the whole apartment, where I had the first of the five showers I would take over the course of the day. No use. You would have thought I'd spent the whole day with a cat pressed to my face.

Yeah, I told you, I think you're going to die.

I groaned and rubbed my eyes and tried—and failed—to go ten seconds without sneezing. “You swear it's going to rain tomorrow?”

Brian knocked my hands away from my eyes. Supposed to start tonight. Five more hours. Wash all this shit out of the air.

Okay. I coughed into my elbow. I can do five hours.

That's good, because I'm thinking you have no choice.

I groaned and flopped down on my back, and he patted my leg.

At least it's not seizures, he said.

I'd kill for seizures right now. At least I'd be unconscious.

You're too unlucky to go around tempting fate like that. And you should already be unconscious for the amount of Benadryl we've pumped into you anyway. Bless you, Christ, this is not rational. You want some tea?

I nodded. I got some of that local honey that's supposed to—

Yeah, I think we're past the point of the magical healing powers of local honey.

I pouted. Do it anyway.

He got up and kissed my forehead and headed to the kitchen, and I panted around my clogged up throat and wondered if wishing for death right now was something I needed to report to my therapist or if it was really just good sense at this point. I'd go with the latter.

He put the kettle on and waved over the counter until my bleary eyes settled on him, then said, What I don't understand is why your immune system can't be bothered to do a fucking thing about any germ that comes your way, but you breathe in one fucking speck of pollen and it's like yeah, don't worry, let me send out the fucking battalion.

“I'm an enigma.”

He shook his head. Jesus Christ, your voice. I can barely understand you, you are so stuffed up.

I shrugged.

He leaned against the doorway between the kitchen and the living room and watched me with a mixture of concern and amusement. What does it feel like?

Like my face is full of ants. Very, very itchy ants.

He tilted his head to the side. Can you take more Benadryl?

I blinked at my watch until it came into focus. Not yet. I can take my fucking inhaler, where the hell...

On the coffee table. You need to go back to the fucking allergist. Or maybe find a new one who's willing to try some sort of radical sinus-removal surgery.

I'm allergic to anesthesia.

At this point I'm going to say you're more allergic to pollen.

I laughed a little, which made me cough some more, and then I sneezed five times without catching my fucking breath and kicked the tissue box. “Oh my God.”

Brian stuck his tongue in his cheek and smiled at me. Your fucking voice. OhbyGod, he fingerspelled.

I'm glad someone's enjoying this.

Well, you are pretty cute.

He went back into the kitchen and came back with some tea and a wet paper towel. He set the mug on the coffee table and nudged me until I was sitting up, then held the paper towel over my eyes. It felt goddamn amazing, and I sighed and said, Thanks.

I felt him kiss my cheek. I stayed there as long as I possibly fucking could before I had to pull away and sneeze again. He pouted at me, a little bit of laughter in his eyes, and I pouted back until he kissed the bridge of my nose.

You, he said. Are going to be fine.

I sighed, which made him frown a little and put his hand on my chest. Yeah, I know, I said.

**

The rain helped, a lot, as did the next dose of Benadryl. Brian fucked me hard but goddamn sweetly, chuckling and nipping at my jaw when I couldn't quit sneezing, and I fell asleep propped up on his chest so I could breathe a little better.

Which ended up being kind of ironic, since I woke up in the middle of the night feeling like I was drowning. Well, not entirely drowning. It wasn't terrifying, just super, super uncomfortable. Is there such a thing as halfway drowning?

I started coughing before my eyes were even open and sat up and found my inhaler on the nightstand. The sheets were sticking to me with sweat, and I felt totally crappy, just dizzy and shivery and out of it, and it was hard to stop coughing long enough to even get my inhaler in my mouth. My whole chest felt heavy and clogged, and it reminded me of this fucking terrible asthma attack I'd had back when I was living with Ethan, where he'd paced around restlessly and made me even more scared, freaking out and asking me if he should call an ambulance, or Brian.

The lamp on Brian's side switched on and I felt him move to the edge of the bed next to me. Hey, you're all right, he said. Wow, that sounds bad.

I sucked in a breath. Yeah?

Yeah, you are really fucking wheezing. He put his hand on my back and rubbed about a circle and a half before he paused. You're warm. He moved his hand up to my forehead, then my cheek. Oh, yeah, look at that. Well, I think we solved the mystery of why your allergies were so bad.

Not allergies?

He laughed a little. No, definitely allergies, they've just also made you sick. He kissed my cheek. Hang on a second.

I nodded and coughed painfully as he got up and went to the bathroom. Everything kind of slid in and out of reality without Brian there to keep me grounded. My chest was really fucking hurting, and I couldn't figure out how to time my breathing to use my inhaler again, not that it had done me any damn good the first time. Plus I couldn't stop shivering even though I wasn't cold, and I couldn't figure that out for some reason, because every time I get sick my brain acts like it's the first time.

Another bout of coughing crashed its way out of my chest, and Brian came back a minute later and gave me a rough kiss on the temple. Ready? he asked me, and after I nodded he slipped an arm under my knees and lifted me up. I tucked my face into his neck, and he kissed my forehead as we walked. He's so goddamn gentle with me when I don't feel good.

He set me down on the floor of the bathroom, where the shower was running and the room was already filling up with steam. Good? he asked me, and I nodded and gulped down the air. All right, good. He sat down in front of me and ran his hands up and down my legs, watching me with intensity in his eyes and a small smile on his lips.

I can't breathe, I said.

He nodded. I got that impression, yeah. Let the steam work, give it time. Does your throat hurt?

I swallowed and nodded. Just a cold?

No dice. That doesn't sound like just your asthma cough. Something's in your chest.

Fuck.

He shook his head calmly. It's okay, we've got this.

I don't want to go to the hospital.

He looked at me like I was crazy, and God, nothing in the world has ever calmed me down that quickly. No one's talking about taking you to the fucking hospital. You have a low fever and a cough. They don't want this shit, you're boring. He flattened his palm on my chest and chewed the inside of his cheek. Yikes, there's some shit in there. You do have to cough that up or you're gonna die. No pressure.

I leaned my head back against the wall. Too tired.

All right, well, you've had a good run.

I coughed and shivered. “Brian.”

Ohhh, your voice is gone. He ran his hand down my arm, then brought his hand up to tuck my hair behind my ear. Chest hurts a lot?

I nodded and doubled over with a sudden coughing fit, and Brian rubbed circles on my back and handed me tissues.

Spit, he said.

I did.

Good. Stay put.

It's fine. This is where I live now. I lay down on the floor. It's nice here.

He dug through the cabinet under the sink and unearthed the nebulizer I get for special occasions such as these, and in a minute he'd set up a treatment and slipped the mouthpiece into my hand. He was calmly attentive while I breathed in the medicine, running a cool washcloth over my skin to bring the fever down, handing me tissues when I started coughing, just sitting and resting his chin on his knees and watching me like I was beautiful.

He switched the machine off when it started stuttering. Did that help at all?

I nodded and took a slow breath in. It didn't feel quite as hard as it had been before, and it hurt a little less.

Good. He moved behind me, his legs on either side of me, and kissed the back of my neck. Cough, he signed on my chest.

I sneezed instead and tried to squirm away from him, because I didn't want to fucking cough any more, but he held me firmly across the shoulders with one arm and clapped my back with the heel of his other hand, and it hurt and I tried to get away, but the touch made my lungs itch and I started coughing, hard. Brian hit for a while before he switched to rubbing, comforting, and I coughed up all sorts of nasty shit for what felt like forever. When I finally took in a breath I didn't have to cough through, it was clearer, and I nodded and turned around and burrowed into Brian's arms. He gave me a strong kiss on the forehead and said, Good job.

Don't make me do that again.

Oh, you're going to love tomorrow, then. He gave me a squeeze and let me go. Bedtime now, come on.

I held my arms up and he rolled his eyes and stood up, then bent over and picked me up.

Oh, Lord, he complained, then he brought me back to the bedroom and tossed me unceremoniously onto the bed. One of these days I'm going to throw my fucking back out doing this shit.

I snuggled into Brian's pillow. “I'll take care of you.”

That's very sweet, Kathleen Turner. He got into bed next to me and tucked me under his arm, and I rested my head against his chest and felt so goddamn shitty. I know, he signed on me, small, as he pulled me into his chest, and I fell asleep there.

**

It was light when I woke up, and at first I thought maybe I didn't feel all that bad, and then I started coughing and felt like I was never going to be able to stop, so, you know, that was fun while it lasted.

Brian wasn't there, but there was a humidifier sputtering on the nightstand, so he must have been out at some point, because I don't think we used to own that. I blew my nose for twenty hundred hours and felt kind of shivery and gross, so I pulled on some sweatpants and one of Brian's t-shirts and wandered out in the living room, still hacking into my elbow like some heroine dying in some old movie.

Brian was sitting on the counter talking on the phone to someone, and he stretched out his arm and held his palm out to me when he saw me. I lumbered over and fit my forehead into his hand.

101? he signed, still talking to whoever the fuck. He touched my cheek with the back of his hand. Maybe 102.

Somewhere in there, I think.

Go take your meds.

Can I have cough medicine?

I don't know, do you want to die? No, you cannot have cough medicine.

I scowled at him and went back to the bedroom and took my meds—he'd left them for me in a little paper cup on the nightstand like I was in a psych ward or some shit—and came back out to the living room, but between getting dressed and making two trips in I was totally out of breath at this point. I sat down heavily on the couch, and Brian came over and finished his phone call with me tucked into his side.

He hung up and I said, Who was that?

Fake-Emily, she's starting tomorrow. He kissed my cheek. Asked me what that noise was.

Noise?

Wheezing, dearest.

Oh. It's bad?

He chuckled. Yeah, it's extremely bad. Are you hungry?

I nodded.

Good. Bring your nebulizer out here and I'll make some toast. Tea or juice?

The choice was like fucking impossible for some reason. I shrugged.

Okay. He looked at me critically. Do you need me to get the nebulizer?

“Yeah,” I said, banking on my voice sounding appropriately pitiful, and I could tell by his eye roll that it worked.

He set up the nebulizer treatment on the kitchen counter and I dragged myself over and sat on one of the stools while he made breakfast. He said, You're not gonna like this, but if that doesn't help we're going to have to go to Urgent Care.

You're right, I don't like it.

I hear you, Sunshine, but your lips are kind of purple, here. I don't think this is pneumonia or anything, but you really don't sound good.

It'll help. I rubbed my chest. It's just bronchitis.

Yeah, and last time you had bronchitis you had to spend a night in the hospital because we couldn't get your fucking asthma under control. Why can't you just have seizures? We're so good at seizures.

I thought we were too unlucky to joke about that.

Who's joking? You want the grape jam or strawberry?

I rested my head against the wall. Strawberry.

I'm going to order groceries later, so take a look at the list and see if you want to add anything.

Okay. I took the mouthpiece out to cough for a little while. Have you heard from Emily?

No, not today. You want me to call her?

Yeah.

How do you feel?

Not so bad actually. I mean...symptomatic as shit, but if you'd told me this was just a really shitty asthma attack I would believe you, you know?

He nodded. Yeah, you seem like yourself.

Yeah.

He studied me. Sunshine, your lungs should not be crapping out like this all the time. Your fucking allergist needs to do something about this shit. Brian likes my neurologist and our GP, but my allergist is always your fucking allergist. Brian thinks if he were any good I'd be symptom-free, which makes literally no sense since he doesn't expect my neurologist to stop all my seizures. You can't reason with Brian.

It's not all the time. And all they did at the hospital was put me on nebs all day. I can do that here. It's helping. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out and opened a text from Emily. It was picture of Janie in a bright blue onesie, wide awake and sprawled out on her back. I grinned and held it out to Brian.

She is awfully cute, Brian said.

She looks just like Emily.

He rolled his eyes. Sure.

She does, look at her nose.

Brian put a plate of toast in front of me and poured a glass of juice. I shut off the nebulizer and took a deep breath, eyebrows raised, and he nodded. Better, he said. Eat.

Eating fucking exhausted the shit out of me, it was ridiculous. I had to keep stopping to cough, and all the chewing and swallowing was like fucking aerobic exercise. I was just so out of breath. Brian cleaned the kitchen and made a phone call and didn't hover, but he did stop me when I tried to get up.

Finish your juice, he said. You need to thin out all that crap in your chest.

I dropped my chin onto my hand. “I wanted to see the baby today.”

Well, tough shit.

“Yeah.”

We need to figure out what to do about tomorrow, he said. I don't think you're going to be well enough to come in but it's a shitty day for me to miss.

I'll be fine here. I sneezed and rubbed my eyes.

Yeah, we'll see. This is why you need a healthy boyfriend to babysit you.

That's why I keep you around, I said, with my biggest smile.

No, you keep me around for my money, and I have to go to work to earn that. Drink, dear.

By the time I'd gotten through that glass, and the second one Brian made me drink right on top of it, I was completely spent. Brian guided me back to bed with hand on the back of my head. I'm going to get some work done in the office, okay? he said, as he pulled the comforter up over me. I'm going to put the nebulizer on you in an hour, but you don't have to wake up.

I blinked up at him. “You did that through the night, didn't you?” Now that I thought about it, I had vague memories of waking up just a little bit and feeling the mouthpiece slip between my teeth.

He kissed my nose.

“You are so fucked over me.”

Well, you are pretty cute when you're all sniffly. He rubbed up and down my arm. Get some rest. Call my phone if you need me, don't try to use your fucking voice.

“Okay.”

What did I just tell you? He checked my temperature with his palm and kissed my cheek. Okay. Sleep well.

I hugged his pillow to my chest. Okay. I love you.

He gave me a little smack on the small of my back on his way out of the room, and I closed my eyes and tried not to cough long enough to drift off.

**

I woke up feeling just fucking awful, like my chest was being crushed. I reached out for my phone and called Brian, then turned my face into my pillow and coughed until my mouth tasted like blood.

I felt him sit down next to me on the bed and rub my back. Once I gathered up enough air to turn my face to him he said, Sit up, you'll breathe better.

“Brian,” I said as he moved me.

I know. He frowned and wiped my eyes. Hey, come on, what's this about?

I shook my head. Just from the coughing. I tried for a deep breath, but it snagged and made me cough some more. Am I just scared because I have a fever? Because I was beginning to think maybe Urgent Care wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

I'm sure that's not helping. You want a shower?

Will you fuck me? If he'd fuck me, that probably meant I wasn't about to die.

Yeah, I'll fuck you. Might help calm you down.

I nodded. I get freaked out sometimes when I can't breathe; Brian's well-enough acquainted with that at this point. That's why he tells me all that stuff like, if x happens we have to go to Urgent Care. It's concrete stuff I can focus on, and it's also a way for him to say, I know, I see you, I'm watching.

Come on, he said.

He ran the shower really hot, despite the fever, and he pulled me into the steam and hugged me into his chest, his arms loose around me. He gave me a little space when I started coughing but he kept his hands on me, and when I spit shit at the shower drain he just said, Good, and I thanked whoever the fuck for the zillionth time that Brian's pathological germ fear has me as a blind spot.

I must sound awful, I said.

He washed my hair. You sound sick.

Yeah.

He fucked me really slow, from behind so I could brace myself on the shower wall, and when I coughed he kept going, following the rhythm of my body, rubbing soothing circles on my chest. It took me for-fucking-ever to come, because I couldn't goddamn focus, but he was patient and told me to shut up when I tried to apologize, and when I finally did I felt all this fucking tension fall out of me, and I nodded when he asked if I felt better and he kissed me on the mouth for the first time since I'd been sick.

I don't know how you stay so goddamn pleasant, he said, small. I will never understand how you don't just scream and never stop.

I don't know how to take that kind of compliment, so I just said, Well, I can't breathe, and he laughed and ducked his head against my shoulder.

He wrapped me up in our biggest towel afterwards, rubbing my hair dry and prodding me to take some more allergy meds, and then he got into bed with me and I watched the rain still coming down outside.

We'll try sitting up this time, he said, positioning himself up against the headboard, and I pulled the comforter over both of us and fell asleep held up against him.

**

He made soup for dinner and we ate it on the couch while we watched whatever sitcom reruns were on. I was still doing neb treatments all the time and they were helping a lot, and by that point I felt less frantically breathless and more just kind of generally shitty. The fever was up a little bit and I was really starting to notice it now, and my hand was finally acting it up and making it hard to hold the spoon, so between that and the coughing spells it took me fucking forever to get the bowl down. I sat on the floor because holding the bowl and the spoon was way too much effort, and Brian stayed on the couch and rubbed his foot up and down my back when I coughed. It was nice.

I think I can come to the office tomorrow, I said.

Yeah?

Yeah, I'll be okay.

He watched me, this really indecipherable look on his face, and I squirmed.

What? I said.

You just...know yourself so fucking well. You know your body. You fucking...stay calm and you say what you need. He took a swig from his beer.

I blushed and looked down at my soup. “It's just bronchitis.”

Brian shifted around on the couch, and I looked up at him. He seemed agitated, all of a sudden. Christ, he said. How the fuck do you do this? I know we don't do this, but fuck, aren't you sick of this? Aren't you mad?

I shrugged.

Shrug? Shrug? Goddamn, you're irritating.

I laughed and settled back on the floor. We're really doing this?

Yeah, we're doing this.

I don't have a choice, I said. Things happen to me, I wait for them to be over. There's no choice involved.

Bullshit. There's a choice. If I were in your shoes, I was choose to be a complete asshole.

I laughed and coughed. And where would that get you?

From experience I would have to say, with your patient ass taking care of me regardless.

You're the patient one around here.

Brian laughed. I want it in writing.

It's so fucking strange that you think what I do is hard, I said.

He looked at me incredulously. Do you realize you don't have enough oxygen to say that out loud? Yeah, you're really having an easy time of things.

I just do what I have to do, I said. How was he not getting this? There's nothing fucking amazing about literally just laying low and surviving shit. I don't even have to do anything. Hell, you've been sticking nebs in my mouth all day. I mean what am I supposed to do, die because I'm tired?

Like I said. Be a raging asshole.

That's just even more exhausting. I waved my hand at him. And what you do. What you do is exhausting.

He shook his head and sipped his beer. I do not understand what part of this you think is so hard. You're cuddly and you're sweet as hell, what part of this exactly is supposed to be the torture?

Being scared all the time, I said. Worrying about me.

Sunshine. He set his beer down. Do you really think I'm even the smallest goddamn fraction as scared as you are when something bad happens to you?

I didn't really know how to answer that.

I don't have PTSD, I'm not missing a chunk of my brain, and I'm not inside a body that has fucking horrible things happening to it. I don't think I'm fucking physically capable of being as scared as you are. Stop making up some story where I'm miserable about this, okay? I wasn't scared today.

“Okay,” I whispered painfully, and he cocked his head to the side.

Justin, I'm fine, he said. I'm not waiting to be saved.

I just love you.

Come on, I know that. Did you finish your soup?

I nodded.

Good. He turned off the TV. Time for bed, wheezy.

In a minute, I said, and I got up on the couch and crawled on top of him and lay my head on his chest. And I stayed there for a really long time, just feeling him breathe.