Sleep: a regularly recurring condition of body and mind in which the nervous system is inactive, the eyes closed, the postural muscles relaxed, and consciousness practically suspended.
Sleep seemed like such a simple thing, really. Everyone slept; babies slept, children slept, adults slept, gorillas slept, and yes, even teenagers slept. So why, then, was this particular teenager having such difficulty sleeping? Tom turned over onto his side and stared at Dougie's wall, his eyes burning with fatigue. How long had it been since he'd actually slept? He was too tired to do the math at the moment, but he could pretty much count that it'd been since Thursday night that'd he had a decent nights sleep. Every muscle in his body was aching, heavy bags circled his eyes, and his eyelids were hanging at half-mast.
He was most sure that he had never been so tired in his entire life. So why was it that he couldn't fall asleep? Dougie's mum told him not to come back downstairs until he'd had some sleep, so he decided to actually try and obey her orders. Dougie was in the house, getting warm, and passed out. He was safe at last. So why shouldn't he dip his toes into the pool of sleep, too? He'd probably done more worrying about Dougie than anyone else! And he was the one that found him. So he felt he deserved a few hours of sleep.
He sighed and turned onto his back, staring up, instead, at the ceiling. After a while he turned his head to the side again, looking out over Dougie's room, which he had decorated since Tom had last been in it. He sighed and looked toward the frost-laced window, admiring the way the sun made the ground glisten and sparkle. "Sun's coming out finally..." he muttered, pulling another of Dougie's blankets higher over his chest. Looking back toward the wall, he buried the side of his face in another of Dougie's pillows. The kid sure did sleep with a lot of blankets and pillows... a lot more than Tom would ever know what to do with.
Tom inhaled deeply through his nose, the sweet scent of Dougie filling his nostrils and overwhelming his senses. He'd never actually thought of Dougie as having a smell before, but now that he smelled it, he recognized it instantly. Curling his knees up to his chest, he pulled the blanket up over half of his face and curled his fists in it, continuing to smell the boy's natural scent. It was kind of a relaxing scent, if he did say so himself. "They should bottle this," he muttered to himself jokingly, his eyes falling closed slowly. It burned to close his eyes, but it felt oh so good at the same time.
Finally he could feel himself settling into sleep. Who knew the essence of Dougie could be so soothing? The only thing that could probably comfort him more at that precise moment was Dougie himself; like when they were laying together on the couch. It was unsettling to him, but at the same time, it was more comfortable than he'd ever been. Dougie's face began to fade into his mind; his smile, his eyes, his eyelashes, his nose, his hands, his lips... Tom thought he was the most beautiful human being he'd ever seen.
He sighed heavily, his and Dougie's situation perfectly clear in his mind for once. Whereas before he'd been freaking out about the whole thing, now he knew exactly what to think about it, and he knew exactly what it meant: he loved Dougie. He was meant to love Dougie; that's why Chris and Joanne got together, he thought. Had they never gotten together, Dougie would've never gotten to Arkansas, and Tom would've never had the chance to meet him. So he supposed he should probably thank Chris and Joanne for that... but they didn't need to know. As far as he was concerned, NO one needed to know. Because although he'd accepted it, it wasn't okay. It was a sin.
And he was forced awake again. What was he doing? Why was he subjecting to this? Dougie must've been playing magic tricks on him or something. Maybe the cold was getting to his brain. He wasn't gay. Not in the slightest. Although, he couldn't recall ever finding any girl interesting. But at the same time, there wasn't a single guy before Dougie that he found interesting! So maybe he didn't fit under a category. If he wasn't homosexual, and he apparently wasn't heterosexual... was he...Dougie-o-sexual?
He wanted to tell himself he didn't like Dougie, because in his mind it was a sin against God. Men didn't like other men, and the same went for women and women. It just wasn't holy. It wasn't Adam and Eve. He didn't want to go to Hell! He'd always been a good boy! Shouldn't God love him for that? Maybe God isn't real... he found himself thinking. What the hell's so god damn great about a God that doesn't accept everyone? His brain was beginning to hurt, and he was pushing himself further and further away from the sleep that he was so close to accomplishing.
He closed his eyes and took another deep breath to clear his mind, and Dougie's scent sent more tingling sensations in all sorts of weird places all over his body. Maybe I just shouldn't care about God... 'cause i'd be lying to myself if I tried to tell myself that kissing Dougie didn't feel good. He sat up slowly, shaking his head at his own thoughts. Never in a million years would he have ever expected himself to be thinking such thoughts. Kicking his legs over the edge of the bed, he placed his feet gently on the ground. He padded quietly across the floor, before opening the door and making his way somberly down the stairs.
"I thought I said eight hours!" Joanne scolded him as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He looked up at her with an apologetic smile and a shrug of his shoulders. "God, if only your mother could see you, now! It looks like I have Death himself standing in my living room!" she continued, before wiping Dougie's face off with the cold, wet rag.
"Is he alright?" Tom asked, ignoring her statement, and walking over to look down at Dougie. His face was red and covered in sweat, and he moved around uncomfortably in his sleep, making the occasional moaning sound. "He's not looking so good," Tom pointed out with concern.
"He was doing fine," Joanne started, placing the rag back in the bowl of cold water, wringing it out, and placing it back on his forehead. "But then he kept getting colder, so we piled a bunch of blankets on him, and then about an hour after putting the sixth blanket on him, he started sweating and kicking them all off..." she continued quietly, rubbing the cloth over his hot, wet skin again.
"He hasn't woken up?" Tom asked, kneeling down on the ground next to him and placing a hand gently on his forearm.
Joanne shook her head, placing the rag back on his forehead and deciding on leaving it there. "He's dead to the world."
Tom sighed and rested his head against the side of the couch cushion next to Dougie's head. "I'd gladly trade places with him," Tom muttered quietly, letting his burning eyes close for a minute. Now Dougie's scent was stronger, and mixed with the salty smell of sweat and body heat. It was a bit sickening, really. Not because it smelled bad, because in Tom's opinion, it didn't really. But there was a sick odor to him, telling Tom something was wrong. The way he moaned and shifted in his sleep was unsettling.
And then he began to shake again. Tom sat up and looked back at him with concern. He was sweating and kicking uncomfortably, and yet his body was shaking with cold. He didn't understand, and he didn't know what to do about it. He looked up at Joanne, who was staring down at him with a hand over her mouth. "I'm gonna go find the thermometer," she said shortly, before walking away.
Tom watched her walk away, then turned back to Dougie. He grabbed the washcloth and began to wipe the sweat off of Dougie's face again. It worried him how much Dougie was sweating; even during the summer he'd never known Dougie to sweat. It made him nervous. Dougie moaned and scrunched up his face, before turning onto his side to face Tom, burying half of his face in the couch, and digging his hand into the couch cushion. Tom gently placed his hand over Dougie's. As if by instinct, Dougie turned his hand and grasped Tom's so tightly it actually hurt Tom's hand.
Joanne walked back into the room, and Tom didn't even have time to drop Dougie's hand. He knew it would look suspicious if he did, so he just shrugged it off and kept his grip on Dougie's hand. "Okay, let's see..." she muttered as she pushed the button. It beeped a few times, and she moved to put it in Dougie's mouth and under his tongue. That was when she realized even if she DID manage to get it in his mouth, she would have a hell of a time getting it to stay under his tongue. "Oh, for Heaven's sake," she grumbled, before turning it off and storming out of the room again.
Tom sighed and pulled his hand away from Dougie, figuring she hadn't noticed before. He wiped his hand on his pajama-bottoms, the heat from Dougie's hand making his own hand sweat some. When Joanne came back into the room, she had another contraption, one that Tom hadn't ever seen before in his life. It looked like a big telephone, but with a weird poky thing on the end that he imagined would make talking on the phone rather uncomfortable after a while. "What's that?" he asked, looking up at her as she walked over to them again.
She pushed a few buttons, put a weird plastic thing over the weird poky thing, and stuck it in Dougie's ear. Dougie groaned and hid his face deeper into the couch, which only gave her easier access to the ear she was going for. "It's another kind of thermometer," she told him. "It's faster and more accurate," she continued, pulling it from Dougie's ear upon hearing the contraption beeping. "Oh god," she said, studying it closely.
"Wha does it say?" he asked, standing slowly and towering over her again.
"40 degrees," she said quietly, moving her eyes from the thermometer to Dougie again. "I'm calling the doctor," she continued, neither the tone nor the level of her voice changing. She sighed and walked out of the room, leaving the two boys alone again. Tom looked around for a chair to sit on, considering the floor hurt his butt, but seeing none, he walked through the kitchen and into the dining room to steal a chair from the table. Joanne came back into the living room as Tom was setting the chair in front of the couch to face Dougie. "Yes! Doctor Brant? My son, Dougie..."
Her voice barely penetrated his mind as Tom stared down at Dougie. He ran his hand gently across his cheek. Feeling the soft, yet sticky-hot skin made his insides quiver with desire. He was desiring to do very un-Christian things right at that moment, but God was the last thing on his mind, so he wasn't all that concerned with it.
"Okay, I'll do that. What if he..."
Tom sighed and closed his eyes. He could see himself kissing Dougie again... but not there. If they were somewhere else, he might let himself fall back into Dougie's sweet, seductive trap. He knew Arkansas was not the place for such things.
"Okay, so here's what we've got to do," she said, interrupting Tom's deep thoughts. Tom's head snapped back up, and his eyes flew open, although he stared at her through heavily lidded eyes. She looked at him nervously. "Maybe I should take your temperature..." she joked, but placed her hand on his forehead nonetheless. Tom stared up at her, eyes hanging half open, along with his mouth. She shook her head and dropped her hand. "You're feeling a bit warm, too. You need to go to bed, young man."
Tom shook his head. "I can't sleep."
"Like Hell, you can't! You're exhausted! Will you look at yourself? Young men need their sleep!"
"I tried sleeping... didn't work," he told her, standing and looking down at her.
She stared up at him and sighed. "Fine. But if you die from mental exhaustion, it's not my fault. Your mother can't sue me! I should make you sign a waver or something..."
Tom laughed and shook his head. "What'd the doctor have to say?"
Joanne sighed and shook her head. "He said put him somewhere comfortable and no matter how much he protests, keep him warm. The best way to get rid of a fever is to burn it off... he said that because of Dougie's body heat, he probably had a mild case of Hypothermia, and the fever is just a result of the body trying to fight it off. Medically, there's nothing that can be done for him. He's just gonna have to suffer."
"Well, what about a heater, or a hot bath?" Tom asked quietly.
"No, no, no, no, no. I asked about that, and he said direct heat – like a heater, electric blanket, heating pad, or even a hot bath – should NOT, under ANY circumstances be applied," she told him quickly and sternly.
"How come?"
"I don't know... I just know he said not to do it," she finished with a shrug. "But he DID say to get him somewhere comfortable, so do you think you could– "
"I got it," Tom interrupted, bending down and picking Dougie up bridal style again. Dougie's arms, rather than slinging around his neck like the last time, hung down over Tom's arms, and his head flopped back. He kind of looked like he was dead. It made Tom nervous. Then again, everything was making him nervous.
"Thank you," she said quietly, patting him on the shoulder, and giving Dougie's forehead one last wipe. "You want some food or anything?"
Tom looked at her and gave her a nod. "I am awful hungry..." he muttered with a grateful smile.
She smiled and nodded her head. "I figured it wouldn't be too long..."
Tom nodded and walked carefully through the livingroom and up the stairs, down to the left end of the hall, and into Dougie's room again. He walked over to the bed, setting Dougie down on it gently, and, despite his obvious protest, pulled a blanket over his body. Doing a quick circle in the room, he found a chair next to one of Dougie's desks, and pulled it over to the bed next to Dougie's head. And from there he just sat and stared at Dougie, the natural light of the room making his forehead glisten with sweat. He didn't know how long he'd simply been sitting there staring at Dougie, but suddenly there was Dougie's mum standing next to him with a plate of pancakes, eggs, toast, bacon, and sausage. "Jeez, Ms. Poynter..." he muttered, staring down at the thick, country plate in his hand, with the heavy, country fork on the plate.
"I brought you the biggest cup I could find," she told him as she handed him a cup of pure, black coffee.
"You're an angel," he muttered gratefully as he took the coffee and took in a deep whiff of the strong aroma.
"Eat, drink, and sleep," she told him, patting him on the back, before walking out of Dougie's room. "I'm gonna close the door so most of the heat stays in here," she said, before pulling the door closed behind her.
Tom looked down to the food on his plate. He was so hungry his stomach might've jumped out of his body and eaten the food itself to save chewing time. But it didn't, of course. Tom did, however, manage to finish the entire plate of food in five minutes. Sure, it wasn't the best food he'd ever eaten, and it was no where NEAR as good as his mum's cooking... but Joanne was learning! Slowly. Very. Very. Slowly. She did, however, know how to make a mean cup of coffee! And for that, Tom greatly appreciated her. He lifted the mug in his hand, holding it with both hands as he took a long, slow sip from it. It was strong, just the way he liked it. No sugar, no cream. Just plain, black coffee.
His eyes had managed to close themselves as he had a seemingly sexual experience with his cup of coffee, and had it not been for the coffee in his hands, he probably would've been lost to the dark abyss that is sleep. He didn't want to fall asleep until he knew Dougie was alright. He'd tried before, and Dougie managed to creep his way into his mind. He opened his eyes and looked back down at Dougie, who was still passed out. He looked so peaceful now that he'd stopped fidgeting so much in his sleep. And although there was a slightly pained look on his face, there was a strange tranquility about him.
Now all there was to do was wait. Tom placed his cup down on the night stand next to Dougie's bed and leaned back in the chair. His eyes slowly closed, and he could feel his entire body beginning to relax. Finally.
