++chapter three++

In Solis, 454.

Suffocating. He was suffocating. The heat pressed down on him like a huge hand, smothering him. Nash saw his doom approaching on swift wings, and it looked like Madame Hussem, the thirty-year-old widow that would not stop flirting with him, no matter how hard he tried to escape her vice-like grip.

He hated these damn parties. Who the hell was dumb enough to have a party outside during the middle of summer? Nash shook his head slightly and amended himself. No, who was dumb enough to have a fancy dress party in the middle of summer?! Whoever the host was, he had a dagger in his boot for them.

Nash reached up to pull at the cravat his mother had forced him for the countless time that day. The aging woman before him continued to blabber on, though Nash was pointedly ignoring her. He was sixteen years old, for God's sake. If he could smell the desperation on this woman, surely everyone else could, too. She tapped him on the shoulder with her fan once again, and Nash exploded.

"Look, lady. Even if you weren't as old as my mother and only half as pretty, I still wouldn't watch to touch you with a fifteen foot, galvanized pole. Why don't you go sink your fangs into one of the desperate old men over there?!" And with nothing more than that, Nash took himself away, missing the woman's shocked and outraged reply. He hated these people and their stupid games. Why did he have to put up with it? He was going to be a knight in the Howling Voice Guild; why should he have to deal with these poor excuses for human beings that called themselves noble?

The young man stomped to where the carriages were waiting to take everyone home. He'd wait here until his mother and father got tired of making small talk with those idiots. Granted, that could be several hours yet, but Nash would rather smell like the horses than go back. Sitting against the wheel of one of the carriages, not caring if his fine clothes got dusty, Nash crossed his arms over his chest and attempted to brood. He looked like a pouty, little boy, but no one was around to tell him different.

That was until his mother rounded the corner and, upon seeing him, came after him like some kind of evil, avenging angel.

"Nash Latkje, you get to your feet right now."

Nash did as he was told--he knew better than to argue with his mother when she used that particular tone.

"What have I told you about insulting ladies?!" When opened his mouth to respond, she continued, "And don't you even argue with me! I don't care if you're in the Temple Guards now, that doesn't mean you can talk back."

"But--"

"Quiet! I think you said quite enough to Madame Hussem, don't you? And don't answer that."

"She was hitting on me again! Maybe if she wasn't so gross I wouldn't've said anything!" Nash pressed the point, though his better judgment told him that getting his mother any angrier probably wouldn't be a smart decision. And she did get more angry--her slight form completely stilling before narrowing her eyes dangerously at her son.

"I don't care what she was doing. No matter what happens, you are supposed to maintain proper decorum! Pointing out a woman's desperation is not, and I repeat, not a polite thing to do!"

"But--"

"Stop it, Nash. Go home and wait for me. Walk." She sighed and turned away. "I have to go clean up the mess you made. Like always."

"But it's fifteen miles away..." Nash protested weakly, making his complaints heard despite the fact that he knew his mother just didn't care.

"So? You're a Temple Guard, you can handle it." His mother walked away, hiking her skirts over her ankles as she continued over the grass.

Nash stared after her for several moments, thinking what he should do. Maybe he should wait for her to come back for good so he could apologize, but... No. He was right. And if she wanted to punish him for that, well, then, she could. It would just make Nash look better in the long run.

So he started walking. It was going to be hell with the fine--but heavy--clothes he was wearing, and the soft, kid boots on his feet certainly didn't make for long distance runs. He would have taken everything off and gone cavorting down the road in his underthings, but he doubted his mother would be pleased at the loss of the clothes, nor at the idea of her son running about near-naked. Besides, he couldn't get them off without help--he knew, he'd tried before.

Wincing as his foot encountered a sharp stone in the road, Nash took the hat off his head and used it to wipe the sweat from his face. It was the middle of the afternoon--generally the hottest time of day--and the sun beat down on him mercilessly. He wondered if he'd be able to get home without dying first. The road stretched on before him, and there were no trees in sight.

Well, it would serve his mother right if he died out here, baked in his finery. Wouldn't she feel bad?

Nash frowned and then chuckled to himself at the immature thought. "You'd be sorry if I was dead!" He remembered saying something similar when he was eight--even then, he and his mother hadn't gotten along well.

Honestly, it wasn't that they didn't get along well; they did, whenever they were together in a casual setting. But that was rarely ever, especially now that he was at the Temple most days. Before that he was at the Guild with Master Sauro... He sighed. He wished he was back there, instead of where he was now. He hated the Temple, truly. It was so quiet and boring. The only excitement he got all day was training with the Grosser Fluss, and that scared him a little...

Losing control; fighting all out... It was like he saw everything in shades of red when he used that thing. He wanted everything to die. At least he thought he did. His mind never seemed to recall exactly what happened, after he drew the Grosser Fluss--like it didn't want to remember. His master had told him that eventually, with time, he would learn to control it a bit better, and that he'd start remembering more. He hoped that was true, because otherwise he was never going to use it or the "inhuman strength" he'd been told he had.

Maybe that was why when he recollected himself after using the Grosser Fluss, he was always so damn tired. It was like he'd ran and ran and ran--his heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest. And then the next day, he'd always feel so sore... The first time he used the sword, he hadn't been able to get out of bed the next day. Luckily for him, Zaj had been there.

The blonde shook his head as he thought about the man. He was a strange one, that Zaj. The dark man was constantly putting himself in Nash's space and making him a little uneasy. But it wasn't a bad kind of uneasy, really; it was electric--kind of like that one time when he'd had a lightning rune attached for a little. When Nash had asked Zaj why he was always so close, the man had responded by telling him that was simply a habit--where he came from (before he was adopted by the Quilos family, apparently) everyone had a small personal space boundary.

Which was odd when Nash paused to think about it, because he hadn't noticed Zaj doing that to any other members of his family.

But besides all that, Zaj was a pretty nice guy--Yulie seemed to like him well enough, after all. His little sister told him that she had a crush on her tutor, but he'd promised not to tell. And he never broke a promise to Yulie. He was a little concerned about it, however, because Zaj was so old, and Yulie was a year younger than him. Surely it wasn't right for a fifteen-year-old girl to be liking a twenty-two-year-old man.

Nash shook himself. Well. If it was alright for a thirty-year-old woman to be hitting on him, surely that would be alright--his mother wouldn't care, that's for certain. The young man kicked a rock in his way in a disgruntled manner.

It wasn't fair. He didn't understand why his mother couldn't just see things as he saw them. He didn't want to be married--he didn't like girls! They were stupid, vapid things, and except for his sister, he despised them all. And even if he did want to take a wife, he wouldn't be able to and still fulfill his dream of becoming a knight. His mother was just trying to complicate things so that he'd be forced to stay home and take his father's place as a boring, old dignitary. Why couldn't she see that that life simply wasn't cut out for him? Why couldn't she understand?

Moping as he was, Nash didn't hear the approach of a carriage until it was almost upon him. He moved out of the way just in time to realize that it was his family's carriage, and that they were going to get home way before he was. They didn't even slow a little to see if he was alright--certainly not enough to ask him if he wanted a ride.

He guessed that meant his mother was still angry with him. Fine, he could be angry too. See if he apologized once he got home. Hmph.

By the time he actually did get home, the sun had already started to fall, the orange light blinding him as he trudged up to the gates. Nash was soaked through with sweat and grimy from the dust on the road, and he knew the moment he stepped through the door he'd be caned, as per usual. Whatever, as long as he could sit down.

The lamps had already been lit, and the foyer glowed as he walked in, leaving a trail of dust and mud behind him. His mother was no where in sight, at least for now. However as soon as Nash closed the door behind him, she appeared, wearing a resigned expression on her face.

"I don't even know what to do with you anymore. Beating you certainly doesn't seem to work..." The woman sighed and leaned against a nearby settee, regarding him sadly.

"Hello, Mother," said Nash dryly, though he made no move to leave or any other sign of disrespect.

"Hello, Nash..." His mother trailed off, looking sullen and thoughtful. A few moments passed where neither talked. Nash watched his mother, trying to figure out exactly what she was planning.

Finally the woman smiled. "You know, I think I'll do what's best for both of us. I'm done. I'm done trying to make you into a proper gentleman, and I'm done forcing you to do things you obviously don't want to do. I'm washing my hands of you, Nash. You're free to do whatever you want. I don't care anymore. I'm done with you--I give up."

"Mama..." Nash spoke without really thinking about it, he was so shocked. What...? How could she be doing this? Didn't she care about him anymore? Didn't she love him anymore? What was going on?

"No. Don't call me that anymore. I'm Anne to you now. And don't look at me like that, Nash. I'm only giving you what you wanted." His mother uncrossed her arms over her chest and left the room; left Nash. For the second time that day he found himself staring after her.

After a long moment, the full force of his mother's words hit, and he clenched his jaw against the need to cry that took him so suddenly. Nash tore up the stairs, not caring about the rug, just wanting to get to his room so he could be alone--he didn't think he'd be able to hold back his tears for that long.

Slamming the door behind him, Nash stood silently in the sanctity of his own chambers for a long minute. His fists clenched at his sides and he swallowed convulsively, doing his damnedest not to cry. After awhile he gave up, sinking to the floor as tears coursed down his face, cutting tracks in his grubby cheeks.

How could she just do something like that?! I'm her son...

Nash made a choked sound in his throat as he drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead against them, curling into as small a ball as he could make himself. He cried rather loudly for several minutes uninterrupted, until he felt a hand on his head.

Jumping back against the door, Nash's eyes flew upwards to see who dared bother him when he obviously wanted to be left alone. It was Zaj. For a moment Nash was confused as to how the older man had gotten in, but quickly remembered that their rooms were connected by an adjoining door.

"What do you want, Zaj? Go away, I'm busy." Nash valiantly tried to suck up his tears--not that he'd admit to crying anyway, even if it was as plain as the man standing before him.

"I see that. Spare me a moment, please?" Zaj knelt down to the boy's level and reached out to wipe at the other's cheek. Nash jerked away from the touch, glaring balefully at him.

"Don't touch me! I'm not in the mood!"

"Your mother, am I correct?" Zaj pressed on, though it was clear Nash was feeling less that hospitable. "I'm sorry, I overheard her and your father talking about you. I was concerned."

"No you're not. You're probably gonna go tell her that I was... upset, just to make her happy," Nash accused wildly--he had to lash out at someone. Zaj was conveniently near.

"I wouldn't. She gives me my salary, but I understand you. Your mother doesn't understand you, Nash. I do."

"You do?" The young man continued to gaze at Zaj a bit warily. He didn't know what Zaj was up to, but whatever it was, Nash didn't like it.

If Zaj saw the mistrust in the mistrust apparent in the young man's eyes, he gave no notice. He simply nodded. "You know I would do anything for your family, Nash--but you've always been my favorite. What did you and your mother fight about this time?"

Nash was a long time in answering. Generally, he didn't like to talk about his problems. What good did that ever do? But faced with the other man's gentle insistency, Nash found it hard not to tell him. "She told me that she'd given up on me, and that she didn't care about me anymore."

Slowly, very slowly, the dark man reached out and drew Nash to him, holding him comfortingly despite the young man's unclean state. Nash resisted at first, but soon yielded to the embrace. It felt good to be held, and although he was still angry, he didn't feel like crying anymore. Maybe it was Zaj's arms around him that calmed him, but Nash liked to believe it was because someone else was watching him. He hadn't cried in another's presence in years and years.

"What a horrible thing to say... Your mother is a harsh woman, Nash. What kind of mother treats her son like that?" Zaj's soothing, sibilant voice murmured, as the man rubbed slow, wide circles on the young man's back.

"A bad one," the blonde answered almost immediately, spitting out the words like poison.

"Yes... Come on, now. You can't stay on the floor forever," said Zaj, pulling Nash to his feet. "Let me help you with your clothes." Before the young man could protest, Zaj started working at the complicated clasps with his deft fingers, and in a matter of minutes, Nash stood in his underwear before him. The blonde resisted the urge to cover himself under the older man's scrutiny. The way Zaj was looking at him made him uncomfortable.

"I'm going to take a bath." He edged around the older man, careful not to turn his back on him. It wasn't that he mistrusted Zaj, per se, but more like he mistrusted the looks the dark man was giving him. It was like a more open, blatant version of the look those noble ladies often gave him. Nash slammed the bathroom door behind him, grateful for the privacy.

As he drew a bath, the young man started to get angry again. It was bad enough that his mother had all but disowned him, but to have to deal with Zaj, too? That was just cruel--actually, unfair was what it was. How come Yulie never had to deal with stuff like this? Just because she was a girl...

Nash stopped himself before he thought something he'd feel guilty for later. Just because he was angry was no excuse to take it out on his innocent little sister, or anyone at all, really, including Zaj. In a distant part of his mind, he realized that it was his fault that he'd driven his mother this far and he had no one to blame but himself. Nash immediately felt bad for not trusting Zaj.

Sometimes Nash wondered why he couldn't just cooperate, and make both his mother's and his own lives a bit easier. He winced as he slipped in the water, the temperature just sub-boiling. As he scrubbed the dirt and sweat off his skin, he thought about the noble ladies and their untoward advances. Sure, it was disgusting, but he couldn't just remain polite and gentlemanly like his mother wanted him to be? Why did he have to lash out every time?

Dammit, Mama, why did you have to go and do this? But it wasn't Mama's fault. It was his. He was a bad son... His mother and father and Yulie would probably be happier if they didn't have to deal with him at all. Maybe he should just go--it wasn't as if Mama and Dad were too old to have another son, after all. Hell, even Yulie--a girl--would make a better heir than him. Nash sighed. He was sorry. He wanted his mama to be his mama again.

His skin started turning pink from the heat of the water combined with the furiousness with which he was scrubbing it. Nash washed his hair almost as an afterthought before stepping from the steamy bath, his pink skin making him look more like a boiled chicken than a sixteen-year-old boy. Unfortunately, the closet that usually held towels was inconveniently out of towels. That meant he was either going to have to go out to his room naked (with Zaj possibly still within) or ask the older man to let him borrow one of his. Nash swore, the servants around this place were getting lazy--couldn't even have clean towels ready for him...

Nash shrugged. Oh well. Not like Zaj hadn't seen a naked man before. He could just deal with it. Leaving little pools of water where he stepped, the young man exited his bathroom, making for his wardrobe. As he predicted, Zaj was still there, watching him as he crossed the room. Nash wanted to stop and tell him to paint a damn picture--it lasted longer--but he reminded himself that this was all his fault, and he shouldn't take his anger out on anyone but himself. He turned his back on the older man to find some pajamas, and started when a hand gently closed over his. Zaj turned Nash around, openly staring at the dripping, naked man [boy?] before him.

"What?" Nash asked, trying his very best not to get mad at the older man. Zaj was doing it again--putting himself way too far into his space, and the situation wasn't helped by Nash's lack of clothes. "Zaj, can you go back to your own room now? I'd really like to be by myself."

But Zaj came closer, completely ignoring the young man's request. Nash was still so short--barely coming up to Zaj's shoulder--but then again, he was still growing. It would be easy, sickeningly so, for the older man to overpower him. But Zaj preferred to do this as non-violently as possible... well, at least for now. He'd play with Nash when he was a bit older. Right now, he needed to have the heir's complete trust in him and, considering how simply the little snot thought, it shouldn't be that hard.

"Do you really think I should leave you alone now? You might do something we'd all regret." Zaj tightened his grip on Nash's hand, pressing closer. The young man took a tentative step backwards, his back hitting the wardrobe.

"Zaj, let me go. I don't like this." His heart was slamming in his chest, the man's nearness making him nervous. For the moment, however, he resisted the urge to use violence to get Zaj away from him. He might just be concerned, and have a really odd way of expressing it. Foreigners were weird that way, after all...

"Don't like what? I'm just trying to help you, Nash. Let me help you." A tiny thrill raced through the older man as he watched Nash's eyes widen. He could practically hear his pulse pounding. Closing his eyes for the briefest second, Zaj composed himself, disguising the glint of sick pleasure he knew his eyes held. It wouldn't do for him to be found out so early in the operation.

"I don't need any help. I'm sixteen, I--Zaj, let me go!" For the first time, Nash tried to jerk his hand free, and he realized with a start just how strong Zaj was. Looks could be deceiving, apparently... Why was he being like this? Nash didn't want any of his help. He wanted to be let go. His whole body felt like it was on fire; Zaj's presence affecting him oddly. He didn't want Zaj to look at him like that--but he did; he didn't want him to touch him, but he knew if the older man were to let go, he'd be disappointed. Shamefully, he knew that if Zaj were to keep touching him, he'd like it.

Making hushing sounds, the older man let his other hand wander over Nash's slick skin. He watched the boy take this with half-surprise, half-panic. "I'll let you go, but is that really what you want? I can make you feel better. I can help." With a final gesture to bully Nash into semi-trusting him, Zaj pulled the young man against him, hoping that his youth and curiosity would finally take dominance over his fear and mistrust. His timing had been perfect, like always. With the boy feeling vulnerable from his fight with his mother, it made seducing him especially easy.

"Zaj, I don't... Why are you doing this?" Nash lowered his lashes, a blush spreading on his cheeks as he finally caught on. A frantic voice in his mind screamed, telling him that this was wrong, very wrong, men shouldn't sleep together; you shouldn't be feeling this way with Zaj.

"Because I think you're beautiful. Because I don't want to see you upset. Just because." Part of that was true. He did think Nash was beautiful; the rest of it was just drivel.

Nash still looked unsure for several moments. Did he really want to do this? The scriptures said... Well, who cared what they said? That was something Mama believed in, not him. He was already going to hell for being a bad son anyway... Right?

"I've never done it before," he felt obligated to tell Zaj. "I don't know what to do."

Zaj looked pleased, a cat-like smile spreading over his thin lips. "Yes, I know. Don't worry, I'll handle it."

And he did. Zaj was pleasantly surprised to find that, though Nash lacked finesse and polish in general, he was very passionate in his responses. The young man started getting nervous again when he dragged him over to the bed, but Zaj easily overwhelmed him, quieting his protests. If he'd cared enough, Zaj could have warned Nash a bit about what exactly having sex entailed, but he didn't. He figured Nash would learn quickly enough.

Nash had liked it up until a point. But suddenly the older man's touch turned invasive and hurtful, and he wanted to stop. When he told Zaj as much, he laughed--and that was worse than the pain. Moving away made it worse; Nash found that out the hard way. He was ashamed when he started crying again and pleading for Zaj to stop. The older man simply shook his head at him and held a finger to Nash's lips.

"Quiet. Voices carry--and your sister is just across the hall. Do you want her to see you like this?"

When Nash had shook his head, Zaj had continued. The young man stayed quiet the entire time, though it felt like he was being torn apart. A few, long, agonizing minutes later, the older man finished and rolled off of him. Nash would have moved as far away as he possibly could if he wasn't in excruciating pain. He wrapped his arms around himself and turned onto his side, thanking whatever Gods were listening (none, probably) that this relieved the ache a little. Zaj made no move to comfort him or even to see if he was alright--and though Nash wasn't particularly happy with the older man, the fact that he didn't care, either, made him cry harder.

Zaj raked his eyes over the young man's backside, smiling smugly to himself. He'd managed to make him bleed, after all. But enough of that--if any of this was going to work, he needed Nash to trust him. Putting on his best sympathetic face, he touched Nash on the shoulder.

"It's always bad the first time. It'll feel better the next time," crooned Zaj.

Nash jerked away from the touch, gritting his teeth as this caused a wave of pain to completely overtake him. "Don't touch me," he growled. "There's not going to be a next time. You think I'm going to let you do that to me again?!"

Zaj looked wounded, and then deeply guilty. He was a wonderful actor. "I'm sorry. I tried to be easy. Didn't it even feel a little good? In the beginning?" The older man paused dramatically. "Well, if you no longer desire my presence... I'll leave you alone now."

Nash bit his lip and felt guilty. It wasn't like Zaj had hurt him intentionally, after all... "You can stay if you want. I don't care. Why didn't you stop when I asked, though?"

"Because I didn't think you knew what you were asking for." Zaj hid a smile from Nash. If he could convince the boy that he didn't know what he wanted, it made him especially easy control. So far, Nash seemed inclined to go along with what the older man said. It was going quite nicely, if he did say so himself.

"Oh..." Nash shuddered as he felt a warm trickle of blood creep down his leg and he reached up to wipe his nose. He secretly hoped that Zaj decided to leave anyway, because he'd much rather die in peace. And he certainly did believe he was dying--while he'd been in worse pain simply training at the Howling Voice Guild, this was a million times more humiliating than anything he'd ever endured there. He wanted to die.

"You can stay if you want, Zaj, but I'd rather be alone, if you don't mind. I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you, or anything."

"Alright, then." The older man picked up his clothes and glasses, and exited the room before he started laughing. The little twit... This was more fun than he thought it would be. And it was so easy...but really, he hadn't even begun to have fun yet. In a distant part of him, he felt a little sorry for Nash, but he smothered that quickly enough. Just because he was beautiful didn't mean he deserved pity. Pretty things were always more amusing to break, anyway.

++

Oh, what had she done? She hadn't meant to be so hard on him, but sometimes that boy made her so angry! Anne Latkje paced the floor of her solar furiously as she debated whether or not she should go check on her son. Nash wasn't a bad kid--far from it--but he was trying at times. And he just pushed her too far today. She should really go apologize...

Did she want to give in like that, though? Anne didn't want Nash to walk all over her--not that she particularly feared that he would, but... She shook her head. No, she'd been far too cruel. If her mother had told her something like that, she would have been wrecked. Who knew what Nash was thinking right now? He'd probably been stewing up in his room for the past three hours, contemplating ways to run off and join the Howling Voice Guild.

She knew that Nash didn't want to inherit, and she didn't really blame him. Anne saw what her husband went through, even though Nash did not, and she didn't want that life for her son. It was dangerous for him, just being who he was...

He already had to go through so much. Why did she have to go and make it worse? Anne sighed. The least she could do was make Nash's home-life as comfortable as possible, not be some kind of warden. She could be a little bit easier on him.

It wasn't like she enjoyed the fact that thirty-year-old women found her son attractive. If she could have, she would be the one beating them off. But she couldn't do that... Nash had to learn how to put them off himself--and he needed to do it politely. They might have been one of the most powerful families in the Crystal Valley, and they certainly didn't get that way by pissing everyone off.

Tentatively, Anne knocked on her son's door. She was straining to hear anything from within, but could only hear the sound of her own heart beating. Finally, she heard a small voice that didn't really sound like Nash's at all.

"Yeah?"

Anne opened the door, and scanned the room briefly in search of Nash. She found him curled up on his bed, facing away from her. The blankets were drawn up to his chin, though it was the middle of the summer. She must have really upset him.

"Nash, are you all right?" Coming around the bed to take a seat next to him, she studied her son's face for a long moment. He'd been crying, that much was obvious. Immediately her heart went out to him, and she pulled Nash into her arms. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean any of it. Nash..."

For a long time Nash didn't reply. But contrary to what his mother thought, that wasn't because he was upset with her. It was because when she moved him to hold him, he felt that sickening stretching sensation and started bleeding all over again. Luckily, the heavy down comforter hid both his nudity and the evidence of his previous activity from her. When he no longer felt like he was going to throw up, he managed to speak.

"It's fine, Mama. I'm sorry for being a bad son. I won't do it again. Please..."

"Oh, Nash, you're not a bad son at all! Why would you think something like that? I promise I won't make you go to those things anymore if those ladies make you uncomfortable..." Anne paused. "I don't really like them hitting on you, either. I'm sorry I scared you."

Nash shook his head, but remained silent. He was happy that his mother was his mother again, but at the same time, he felt guilty and vile for what he'd done. The young man almost wished his mother hadn't apologized--that way he could still blame her for making him cry and attracting Zaj.

To say that he regretted it would be a vast understatement. It was only an hour after the fact. And it wasn't just because it had hurt, either...

Now Nash really was making himself sick.

"Mama, I'm going to throw up, could you leave?"

"What's wrong, dear? Have you come down with something?" The woman put a hand to Nash's forehead, trying to gauge his temperature. The young man tried to remain still, though the contents of his stomach were roiling like a stormy ocean. The color had long since drained from his face.

"No, it must have just been the heat. Go now? I'll be down for dinner."

"If that's what you want..." Nash's mother backed off, but not before leaving a kiss on his forehead. "Should I send your nurse up here?"

"No. I'm fine." As much as he loved his mother at the moment, he really needed her to leave. He couldn't get out of bed while she was still there and let her see him naked or the blood. Smiling reassuringly (though weakly), he prodded her until she got up.

"You'll tell me if you're still not feeling well, won't you?" Anne smoothed Nash's hair back before walking to the door. She waited until Nash agreed before stepping out into the hall. "You don't have to go to Church tomorrow if you're still feeling bad."

Nash paused until the door was firmly closed behind her before stumbling out of bed with a cry of pain and into the bathroom, where he was violently ill. He barely made it back to his bed before he lost consciousness.

As he slipped into oblivion, he was left with one resounding thought.

Hell, at least it can't possibly get any worse.