Strung by Bella Costa Page B

caught up in the spell binding story.  At some point during the film, Chayton has fallen asleep and slipped down, his head on my lap.  It feels so natural and it is only when he starts snoring lightly do I realise that I'm stroking his hair.  Not wanting to disturb him, I leave him there and carry on watching the film.
     
    ~.~
     
    26th March
    I jolt awake.  It takes a few moments for me to digest my surroundings.  The sun is making an appearance through a thin slit in the heavy burgundy drapes.  My head is buried deep in a soft pillow and a warm comfortable weight is pressing down on my belly.  I rub my eyes and the weight on my midriff shifts. 
    Shit, I must have drifted off.  How and when did I end up under the covers?  Last thing I remember I was sitting on top of the covers.  I sit up slowly, shifting Chayton's head from my belly, onto his pillow and stand tenderly.
    My ankle is healing well.  The swelling is on its way down, or though it still has a long way to go, I note sadly.  I can almost put my weight on my toes.  I just can't put my foot flat on the floor.  I would have thought the opposite to be true, but clearly my medical knowledge has holes.
    Other than that, I feel remarkably rested.  I check Chayton over quickly.  He is still very warm but sleeping peacefully so I head for the bathroom down the hall and have a quick shower, scrub my teeth and pull on fresh sweats and a camisole and find a really thick pair of socks. 
    I head to the kitchen and set about making a soft breakfast .  I decide on oats with dried fruit and a tall cranberry with a little salt for Chayton and oats with coffee for me.  I quickly scoff mine down, then balancing his tray on one upturned palm and hobble down the hall to his room. 
    He is stirring when I enter and I put the tray on his bedside table.
     
     
     
     

Chapter 5
     
    "Good morning."  He sits up and rubs his eyes while I open the curtains to let the sun stream in.
    "Breakfast?" he asks, rubbing his eyes.
    "Yes, breakfast.  Eat up!  How are you feeling?"  I look him over from a safe distance.
    "Like I've been hit by a truck.  You don't need to do this you know, but I'm glad you're here," he ends softly and I offer a small smile, not sure what to say to that.  He squirms on the bed trying to get comfortable and winces.
    "Chayton?" 
    "It's nothing, I'm just uncomfortable."  He pulls the tray onto his lap and eats his oats slowly, occasionally sipping his cranberry juice .  "The cranberry is nice, but is it me or is it a little salty?"
    "It is salty; you've been sweating a lot.  You need to replace some of the electrolytes or you'll get dehydrated."
    "Oh, thanks doc.  The oats are good too by the way."
    I sit on the armchair watching him eat.  Even sick, he is beautiful.  The muscles in his shoulders and arms flex and ripple every time he brings the spoon or glass to his mouth .  He puts the tray back on the table and I get up to take it back to the kitchen.  When I return, the bed is empty.
    "Shit, fuck!" he calls from the bathroom for a second time in twelve hours, but this time, without the alarming bang.   I tap on the open bathroom door, before peering in. 
    "Oh!"  I duck my head back out again.  "I'm sorry.  I thought...   I um..."  Oh crap, could this be any more embarrassing?   "Are you okay?"
    "No, I'm not fucking okay!" he sounds positively mad.
    "What is it?"
    "My bloody balls are killing me and well - they don't look or feel right!  I need to get to a hospital!"
    I expel a huge relieved breath.  "Is that all?"  Well that would explain why I caught him with a handful.
    "What do you mean is that all? " he protests, approaching the door.  "Look at them!"
    I am about to tell him that that is not necessary but he appears in the open door way stark naked, a mix of anger and fear morphing comically across his face with his testicles cradled protectively in his hands.  I quickly turn my back, failing to suppress a