Love You, I'm Sorry
Cliff/Elliot. Emeto with mixed angst and fluff. Takes place shortly after they get back together. For Day 3 of @whumpmasinjuly, “I’m sorry.” @whumpmasinjuly-archive
Hi I’m back after MONTHS with a 8.4k word Thanksgiving story in July. And yes I know Elliot’s childhood dog was never mentioned in A Safe Place shhh I’m retconning here just imagine she was there curled up at his legs the whole time he had pneumonia.
It had been years since Cliff saw them - three if you were counting, which he was. Cliff was extremely nervous to see Mr. and Mrs. Caruso, and he was even more nervous for them to see him. The first time Cliff and Elliot had dated, Rachel and Giovanni had really liked Cliff. They had been so welcoming to him when he’d shown up at their doorstep with pneumonia the summer after freshman year, and just as affectionate that following summer when Cliff lived with them. They’d trusted Cliff with their precious son, let him into their home, and thanked Cliff for taking care of Elliot even though it always felt like Elliot was the one taking care of Cliff. They gave him what he’d never had, just told him to treat Elliot well, and then what did Cliff do? Exactly the opposite. So of course they hated him. There was no way they didn’t.
That was why, when Elliot invited Cliff to Thanksgiving dinner, Cliff hesitated. He tried to think of a good excuse that wouldn’t cause an argument. Like the fact that every meal he ate that consisted of more than plain toast or unseasoned mashed potatoes seemed to make him throw up these days. Or the fact that the sores in his mouth from the methotrexate he was on were killing him, even drinking water hurt sometimes. But none of these things seemed like something he could just bring up without it being a conversation, and he and Elliot had only just started dating again two months ago. Cliff was trying not to scare him off with all the weird scary health stuff, although he was being especially careful not to lie about it either. He really didn’t want to see Elliot’s parents, though.
“My parents love you,” Elliot tried to persuade him when he saw Cliff’s reluctance to answer.
Cliff cringed. “Loved,” he corrected Elliot. “That was before we broke up because of me being stupid.”
“Well, yeah, they’re protective,” Elliot admitted. “And maybe they’re not crazy about the fact that we’re dating again, but you know they just care about me. They were still sorry when they heard you’d gotten sick.”
“I don’t know…” Cliff trailed off, self consciously touching the oxygen tubing that ran behind his ears and to the portable concentrator slung around his shoulder. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
Elliot sighed. “Cliff, it would mean a lot to me if you come. Please?”
Cliff couldn’t say no after that.
Now, standing on the same New Paltz doorstep as he did back then, Cliff regretted being such a pushover. The doorway was decorated just as Cliff remembered it being during the holidays - fake green garland wrapping around the thin iron railing to the left of three steps to the entrance. A straw wreath with pine and a big red bow on the door, and battery powered candles in each window. Rachel Caruso loved decorating for the holiday season almost as much as she loved her only son. Almost. That was an impossible bar to supersede.
“Christmas starts with Thanksgiving,” she had explained to Cliff once. “Might as well put the decorations up so they’re there for two holiday gatherings instead of one.” That felt like a million years ago. Cliff had been on a ladder hanging tinsel for her while Elliot worked in the garage with his father. They’d been so… comfortable. To Cliff, it had been a peek into the happy family life he’d never had and he soaked it up greedily. When he and Elliot had broken up, he’d had the tiniest hope he’d at least hear something from them again, because they had told Cliff they really cared about him. But they never did call him, of course they didn’t.
So Cliff never let himself hope he’d be on this doorstep again. And now that he was here, he wasn’t sure he was ready to break up the good memories he had with Elliot’s family when he had to see his mistakes reflected in their current disapproval. After all, Cliff knew through mutual friends (all of whom inevitably lost contact with him, because who would choose Cliff over Elliot?) that Elliot had been in shambles after their breakup. Like so bad that Cliff was scared that he’d hear Elliot had seriously hurt himself. On social media, he looked tired and his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Then the music had started taking off, and Cliff didn’t need to go to their ex-friends or Facebook for gossip. Getting his news through PR approved statements actually made it easier to detach. He made himself stop imagining coming back to this house and begging for Elliot’s forgiveness, because Elliot was doing amazing without him and Cliff shouldn’t ruin it. He was still scared he might ruin it, and he was sure Elliot’s parents would be too.
“Ready?” Elliot asked him.
“Trying to figure out how much you would hate me if I wimped out now,” Cliff grimaced. His body ached, his stomach cramping with anxiety even though he’d thrown up shortly before Elliot had picked him up for the night. It was so bad Cliff felt like he couldn’t stand up straight, let alone eat. He tightened his grip on the handles of his crutches.
Elliot laughed. “I wouldn’t be happy,” he said. “Hey, it’ll be fine. My mom skipped the pecans on top of the pumpkin pie for you and everything. Let’s go.” Something about Rachel Caruso remembering Cliff’s random singular allergy to pecans felt like a slap in the face, and it did not increase his desire to enter at all. But then Elliot knocked, the door opened, and there she was looking just like Clif remembered her.
“Elliot!” She said warmly, ushering the two boys in and giving her son a hug and a kiss. Giovanni ambled in from the living room and followed suit with a hug. Then they both looked at Cliff, and it was like all the air in the room got thinner. “And Cliff. How nice of you to join us, it’s been so long,” Mrs. Caruso said with significantly less enthusiasm. Her expression was strained and Mr. Caruso didn’t even pretend smile. Cliff imagined himself turning tail and running like a coward. At least Misty, Elliot’s childhood dog seemed happy to see him if her wagging tail was any indication.
“Mr. and Mrs. Caruso. Thank you for inviting me,” Cliff said politely, even though he knew they hadn’t. Elliot had doubtlessly talked them into it, trying to convince them that Cliff had changed and deserved another chance. By their expressions, Cliff knew that Elliot’s parents thought the same thing as Cliff: that he did not deserve it. They didn’t even insist that Cliff call them Rachel and Giovanni. They always used to insist that.
Elliot looked between his parents and current boyfriend, who was also his ex-boyfriend, and only seemed to double down on his insistence that this was going to be a great night. “Is dinner ready?” He asked, “I’m so hungry. It smells really good, mom.”
“You have great timing, I just took the rolls out of the oven,” Mrs. Caruso answered, and Cliff knew she was staring at him - analyzing him. Doubtlessly, judging the way he looked like shit compared to the last time she’d seen him. The dark shadows under his eyes, sharp cheek bones, his crutches and the oxygen all painted a picture that Cliff knew left little to the imagination about the state of his health. Surely she was wondering what Elliot saw in him; wondering if what Cliff saw in Elliot was altruistic or just a dying man eager to ride the coattails of Elliot’s success. “Well, come on, wash up and sit down,” she said when she finally tore her gaze from Cliff.
They washed their hands in the kitchen and then Elliot ushered Cliff to the table. Misty brushed against Cliff’s legs and Cliff was happy to pet her familiar golden fur. He could tell she recognized him and it was a relief to have just one living creature in this house who didn’t know every mistake he’d ever made. “What do you want to drink?” Elliot asked as his mom placed the dishes along the kitchen counter for everybody to help themselves buffet style.
“Uh, water’s fine,” Cliff said, shaking his head when Elliot held up a beer. He realized that drinking hadn’t come up yet in their new relationship yet - Elliot didn’t know that he couldn’t drink unless he wanted to spend the entire night puking. He’d mention it later. Elliot shrugged and tossed a bottle to his dad before taking one for himself.
“Serve yourselves,” Mrs. Caruso said. Elliot took a plate, moved to hand one to Cliff, and then looked at him up and down. Cliff felt terribly self conscious when he realized Elliot was trying to decide whether or not Cliff could actually serve himself with his crutches. Elliot’s parents were staring, obviously wondering the same. Mortifying, Cliff thought to himself.
“I can do it,” he reassured Elliot awkwardly, face red. He took his crutches off and leaned them against the table at the spot where Elliot had put the glass of water for him.
“You sure?” Elliot started. “Because I can-“
“Yup,” Cliff cut him off. He meant to sound casual and unoffended, but with everybody judging him he wasn’t sure if he succeeded. “Don’t worry,” he added, and forced himself to give Elliot a smile in the hopes that it would diffuse the situation. Elliot smiled back at him, so it must have worked to some extent.
Cliff was careful to keep his balance as he went down the line, leaning his hip against the counter and taking a tiny portion of everything to be polite. Ham, sweet potatoes, mac n cheese, green beans. His appetite was awful these days, and he knew he would struggle to finish the small plate he made for himself even if his stomach wasn’t already reeling with anxiety. Before, Mrs. Caruso would have insisted Cliff take more and said that he was too skinny. Now she didn’t comment. Cliff took his seat relieved that he hadn’t made a buffoon out of himself by tripping with a full plate. If nothing else today, at least there was that. Keeping the bar as low as possible was the only way he could see this night being a success after all.
The Caruso household had never been silent, something Cliff had admired. Sometimes he found it overstimulating, but he came to associate it with the place being a home, not just a house where people slept like the house where he grew up was. The fact that Mrs. Caruso wasn’t asking him a million questions about school, or that Mr. Caruso wasn’t recounting the latest tale from his shop, felt so wrong. The football game was on in the background at least - one thing to fill the air that Cliff had clearly turned stale by walking in. Everybody was pointedly fixated on eating. Cliff could already tell his stomach wasn’t handling the first bites he took off his plate well and he wrapped one arm around himself protectively. Say something, he told himself. Anything to make them think you’re the same person they used to like. “Thank you for the food. How’s the shop?”
“Good,” Mr. Caruso answer. ‘Elaborate,’ Cliff thought. ‘Oh my god, please elaborate.’ “Are you still in law school?” For god’s sake, not with that.
“I left after the first year,” Cliff said, trying to sound casual about what he viewed as his second biggest failure - his first being when he destroyed the heart of this man’s only son. “I’m a tutor now.” He spent his days helping people who still had bright futures study for the LSAT, the test he’d gotten an incredible score on right before he proceeded to flunk out of law school after freshman year. It was depressing as hell. He forced himself to eat a bite of ham, breathing steadily through his nose to keep from gagging on the slimy texture, and pinched his thigh under the table in an attempt to distract his nervous system. It was something he’d read online and occasionally it worked to quell the nausea. Usually, like now, it did nothing.
“Are you living with your parents?” Mr. Caruso asked.
Elliot frowned. “Dad,” he said pointedly.
“It’s just a question, son.” It wasn’t just a question and everybody knew it. Cliff had met Elliot’s parents at 18 years old, basically having been kicked out of his own parents’ house after coming out as gay. He was nervous, withdrawn and flinched every time anybody moved towards him too quickly. Elliot’s parents knew exactly what kind of people Cliff’s parents were. They knew he wasn’t safe in that house, and once upon a time they had promised Cliff he would always have a safe place here with them. Clearly, that offer had only extended as long as Cliff wasn’t ruining their son’s life.
“No. I’m in an apartment in Chinatown,” Cliff answered. The description of his living space being an apartment was generous. It was a tiny studio in a condemned building that didn’t have heat for half of the winter. But it was his, separate from his parents, and that was all that really mattered. It was also the only thing he could afford without their support checks, which had stopped after they’d found out about Cliff dropping out of law school. He felt Misty brush against the side of his leg under the table and reached down to pet her. It worked slightly better at distracting his anxious brain than pinching himself had.
Elliot brought up the football game then, and his parents managed to have a more normal, if not stilted conversation about normal people things before Mrs. Caruso swung the hammer right back in Cliff’s direction while he was working on choking down cranberry sauce. “Do you always wear oxygen now, Cliff?” She asked. Elliot groaned.
Cliff slowly put his fork down. He felt too queasy to focus on answering this question calmly and eating at the same time. “Most of the time,” he said.
“I looked your condition up, Elliot told me you were diagnosed with sarcoidosis,” Mrs. Caruso said levelly. Cliff remembered that she was a nurse, so of course she had. “It seems like on the scale of things, it’s pretty severe. How is that going?”
Cliff wanted a meteor to come through the roof so he didn’t have to answer. He knew for a fact that if bets were to be placed on him versus a strong gust of wind winning a fight, most people would go for the wind. “I’m managing,” he forced himself to say. He got an indeterminate hum in response. Did they think he was hitting Elliot up as a tick on his bucket list, Cliff wondered, a final hurrah? “I’m not actively dying.” Only Elliot seemed to realize Cliff was saying this tongue in cheek, because he let out a single laugh as his parents nodded seriously. Cliff was pretty sure Mrs. Caruso kicked Elliot under the table for it.
“Well, we’re glad to hear that,” Mrs. Caruso said. And Cliff thought, ‘Are you really?’
The meal continued to be too quiet, even with the game on in the background. A few topics came up like Elliot’s much older brother who worked overseas, but none of them stuck. Every time Cliff felt the urge to cough, he did his best to hold back, which just made his lungs feel unpleasantly itchy. Elliot kept looking around at everyone like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t decide which topic was the least likely to send everybody into a tailspin. Cliff’s stomach kept clenching tighter and tighter, aching beyond his abdomen and down his legs. It was such a consuming feeling, and soon it was all Cliff could think of. Maybe it was karma.
Karma or not, Cliff did not plan on throwing up on the Caruso’s kitchen floor during Thanksgiving dinner. “Um, do you mind if I use your bathroom?” He asked, hoping he hadn’t gone as pale as he felt like he looked.
“Of course,” Mrs. Caruso said, “It’s right down the hall. Well, you know where it is.” Cliff did. He tried not to act like he was running away as he hurried to shove his arms into his crutches and excused himself.
Out of sight, finally, Cliff closed the door and turned on the fan along with the light. He groaned and sat on the toilet lid, exhausted by how horribly this was going. His stomach protested painfully at the rich food it was being subjected to combined with the stress of the evening. He tried counting breaths to twenty to calm down like his therapist had taught him, but he was just as bad at that as he was at small talk.
Cliff knew he had to go back to the table or everybody would wonder what he was doing. On the other hand, they were already judging him and he was very possibly just making it worse every time he opened his mouth. Despite the practice breaths, Cliff felt like it was getting harder to breathe. Not deoxygenated-hard-to-breathe, but oh-my-god-this-is-horrible hard to breathe. Panic attack hard to breathe. Crap, if he had a panic attack right here right now he might actually perish from humiliation afterwards. He couldn’t come up with anything else to calm himself down but the inevitable.
Cliff knew he shouldn’t throw up if he could help it. His body needed the calories, and his doctor had said the more he gave in to the temptation to vomit the worse his reflux would get. Cliff hated that his doctor used the word temptation, like he was under the impression that Cliff liked throwing up - because he didn’t. He hated it with a passion, and it was always accompanied by all these emotions he didn’t know what to do with. If he could stop it, he would. But it was a need that Cliff couldn’t explain. Sometimes it was all that helped the blooming, overpowering nausea that took over his mind. It would hang there and he wouldn’t be able to remember how to be a human until he knew that every bit of food inside of him, real and imagined, was on the outside where it belonged.
Cliff stood and flipped up the lid of the toilet seat just in time before he began to puke up all of the food he’d managed to eat during dinner. He winced when a splash of water met his face from the force with which he expelled the food, none of it digested yet. After the first wave he hoped it would be over - Cliff had barely eaten lunch, skipped breakfast entirely, and sometimes he could manage to force himself to stop after the first round. This time though, just like many other recent times, his stomach just kept forcing more up. Even when nothing was coming but tiny amounts of stomach acid, Cliff kept dry heaving. He felt so out of control and dizzy, a pained whimper escaping that he hoped the fan drowned out.
It lasted longer than Cliff had expected it would. By the time he was finally able to stop retching, wipe the toilet seat off and wash his hands, he’d been gone for well over 15 minutes. There was no way he was going to get out of this as a simple bathroom break now. As much as Cliff would have liked to march back in there and pretend the judgement didn’t bother him, he knew it would - just as surely as he could feel the nausea still radiating off of him even after throwing up what had to be everything he’d put into his body in the last 48 hours. Going back there while feeling like this - continuing to eat and facing the scrutiny of two of the nicest people alive who he’d managed to make hate him - was just too much. He also knew if he sat back down at that table, he might do something even more humiliating like pass out.
Cliff hobbled out of the bathroom leaning heavily on his crutches, feeling resigned to admitting defeat. “Um… Elliot?” Cliff called down the hall. “Can you come here for a second?” His voice wavered and he knew before he saw Elliot that Elliot was going to worry. Sure enough, he soon saw Elliot’s form hurrying towards him with a look of concern on his face.
“What’s wrong? You were gone so long, are you okay?” Elliot asked in alarm. He reached for Cliff, who held onto Elliot’s forearms when offered.
“Don’t run. I’m just not feeling too good,” Cliff admitted weakly. “Food’s not sitting well.” The company was possibly the main contributing factor to this souring, but Cliff wasn’t trying to ruin the dinner for Elliot more than he already, inadvertently had.
“You were puking?” Elliot asked. Cliff nodded in response, embarrassed. “But you barely ate,” Elliot pointed out, brow furrowed.
“Yeah, I know.” Your parents also ripped me a new one and I feel unworthy of being in this house. “I’m really sorry, I just don’t think I can eat any more. Even though your mom went through all the trouble...”
“Don’t worry about that. Is it my parents?” Elliot asked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think they’d be so upset, I told them to be nice. I can talk to them.”
Cliff shook his head. “I just really don’t feel good,” he said. “My stomach hurts pretty bad.” Elliot’s parents were the cause of him feeling like the most worthless piece of crap to have ever come crawling back - but saying so wouldn’t make him any less ill, nor would it endear him to Elliot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would get this bad.”
“No, it’s fine,” Elliot sighed. “I understand. I just thought… it’s been so long, you know? I thought they’d be okay.”
“You’re their son,” Cliff said, sounding tired. “I’d be pissed if I was them too.”
“Still, they know you better than that,” Elliot said. “Milo I get, but-“
“-You told Milo about us?” Cliff interrupted.
A look of defensiveness appeared on Elliot’s face and Cliff immediately knew he’d messed up. “Well yeah, he’s my best friend. Am I not supposed to tell my best friend who I’m dating?”
This was turning into an argument that Cliff didn’t want to have, nor did he feel up to handling. He groaned and pressed the heel of one hand into his aching eye sockets. “No, no, you can. You should. I’m just - ignore me.” The not being able to breathe feeling was back, and Cliff leaned against the wall, defeated. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause problems.”
Elliot’s cross expression softened instantly. “I know. Let’s just get you home,” he said.
“You shouldn’t have to leave Thanksgiving dinner just for me,” Cliff said. “You don’t have to leave too.”
“Cliff, you look like you’re going to throw up again any second, I’m not - oh man, I’m sorry!” At the words throw up, Cliff lurched right back to the toilet to gag again. There was nothing left, just stomach acid that burned his throat and tendrils of bitter mucus. The force of the dry heaving made him dizzy, and he was too relieved to be embarrassed when he felt Elliot’s strong hands grip his shoulders and pull him from sagging right onto the floor. “Come on, I’m going to drive you,” Elliot was saying sympathetically.
“No, sorry,” Cliff groaned. The room spun around him. Cliff was sure it might come to a halting crash any second now.
“Don’t be sorry, it’s okay,” Elliot said, directing him towards the little bench that was in the hallway next to all the shoes. “Sit, I’ll be right back. I’m just going to tell my parents we’re leaving.”
Cliff wished Elliot didn’t have to - he could easily imagine the look of disgust on Elliot’s parents’ faces when Cliff added stealing their son away in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner to the list of reasons to resent him - but disappearing without a word would probably be an even worse offense. Cliff nodded and leaned against the wall, eyes closed and attempting to take deep breaths through his nose. He felt like the most pathetic man alive right now and he knew tonight had not helped him sway the tides back in his favor. But he was also far too nauseous to argue about staying right now.
He felt the brush of fur against his pants leg and reached down to find Misty pressing against him for pets. Her once reddish golden fur was now fading with grey dispersed throughout, he noticed. “I did miss you,” he sighed fondly, running his fingers through the soft fur. He felt like she was the only one in this house that didn’t hate him right now. She stayed by his side as Cliff heard voices rise in the kitchen.
“Are you guys serious? Mom!”
“It was a mistake for you to bring him here! You don’t know how awful it was when you two broke up!”
“Actually yeah I do, I was there!”
He’d caused problems, Cliff thought sadly. Tonight was supposed to be about fixing things, but apparently Rachel and Giovanni Caruso hadn’t been able to let go of what he’d done to Elliot as easily as Elliot himself had. Which was reasonable, honestly.
“Elliot, you don’t understand what it was like, watching you sitting at this table crying your eyes out for months and now you just want us to welcome him back?!”
“Cliff’s changed, I swear! Why can’t you just give him a chance?!”
“He’s using you, son!”
There were heavy footsteps and Cliff lifted his tired head to see Elliot stomping in, expression wild with fury. “We’re leaving,” he huffed.
Cliff felt a pang of guilt and sadness that Elliot was having such a heated fight with his parents. It was his mistakes - his own selfishness - that had caused the breakup in the first place. When he hadn’t been able to get over his parents expectations and come out as gay, he was weak. When he’d lied about how sick with anxiety he’d become, he was weak. And now it was his own weakness that had put Elliot in a position to fight with his parents. Cliff didn’t blame them for looking at him and seeing nothing but hurt.
“I should talk to them,” Cliff forced himself to say, even though he wanted nothing more than to accept Elliot’s proposal to run. Cliff was good at running, but running was how he’d ended up without Elliot. He was trying to be a better person, and a better person would talk to the parents who hated him and apologize formally. “I should explain.”
“Not right now,” Elliot huffed. “Not after they talked about you like that.” Cliff wondered what else they had said that he hadn’t been able to hear.
“You should stay,” Cliff tried weakly.
“We’re going,” Elliot snapped back.
Cliff shut up, averse to causing an additional argument. He tried to get to his feet, but faltered and would have fallen forward had Elliot not grabbed his arm. “Thanks,” he breathed shakily. He adjusted so that he was gripping Elliot’s forearm and could feel Elliot’s tense stance. “Don’t be mad at them, E? They have their reservations, it’s okay,” Cliff said quietly.
“Reservations are okay. Being rude and acting like you’re evil isn’t,” Elliot said. “We both made mistakes. We were twenty, Cliff. Barely! People aren’t allowed to make mistakes when they’re barely still teenagers?!”
Even though Elliot was saying this in spite of his parents, Cliff couldn’t pretend it didn’t feel a little good to hear him say those words. It was true: they had been young, and things had been really intense, yes. It wasn’t an excuse, but it was a compelling explanation on why some of the choices Cliff knew he’d made had been so spectacularly dumb.
“No, they’re allowed,” he reassured Elliot quietly. Elliot helped Cliff into the car, muttering about how his parents hadn’t had to be so rude, and started the engine. Warm air sputtered from the vents and Cliff shivered, wrapping his coat closer to his body.
The drive from New Paltz to Chinatown was two hours best case scenario, and that was without increased holiday traffic. They had initially floated the idea of getting a hotel room for the night, but Elliot had said if they got too tired to drive they’d just sleep at his parents’ house. With that option presumably out now, it was either find a last minute hotel or suffer the drive. Cliff didn’t want to be picky - it was his fault they were leaving without even making it to dessert, after all - but he wasn’t so sure he was going to make the jerky drive without throwing up again. Just continuing to sit up in the passenger seat was painful. On the other hand, Cliff had no money to splurge on the luxury of a comfortable hotel bed to crash in. He wouldn’t even be able to pay the insurance on this car if it was still his.
“Why’d you keep it?” Cliff asked suddenly.
Elliot glanced at him, still obviously upset from what they were driving away from. “What?”
“The car,” Cliff said. “Why’d you keep it? You could have traded it in for something that wasn’t… it.” Mine.
“Oh.” Cliff thought maybe Elliot wasn’t going to answer. An entire minute went by when all Cliff could hear was the hum of the engine and the dull bumps underneath the tires as they drove, each one sensing a pang of pain through his abdomen “I just didn’t think it was necessary,” Elliot said finally. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“Stop,” Cliff said suddenly, sitting up high.
This earned a look of thorough irritation from Elliot, who was in clear disbelief that Cliff wanted to start a fight about this topic right now. “What? Cliff, come on-“
“-Stop the car, I’m about to puke!” Cliff interrupted, clapping a hand over his mouth.
“Oh! Shit, sorry,” Elliot said, pulling over immediately to the side of the road. Thankfully they had not yet reached the highway. Cliff opened the door before the car was even fully in park, launching himself one unsteady step forward before he began to vomit. Apparently, there was somehow more of the dinner left inside of him after all. He held on to the open door frame to avoid falling in a puddle of his own sick, but everything was spinning around him. Cliff whimpered, panting and trying to suck in oxygen through his nasal cannula to make the spinning stop. He didn’t know how long Elliot waited, but eventually he felt hands on his shoulders pushing him back onto the passenger side seat. “It’s okay, Cliff, don’t worry. We can still get a hotel or something…”
It was a waste of money, Cliff thought even through the dizziness. Money that neither he nor Elliot should really be throwing around right now. Despite Elliot’s newfound success, he was at risk of becoming a one hit wonder if he didn’t work hard for something more. Being frugal to keep the door open for future ventures was important. And Cliff… Well, he was already skipping doctor’s appointments because of the copays.
“Parents,” Cliff panted, burping painfully into his hand. “Your parents' house.”
“Cliff, I just stormed out of there. I can figure out a hotel room, and there’s no way you’re making it back to Manhattan tonight…”
Cliff blindly found the bottom hem of Elliot’s shirt and tugged. “It’s a waste of money. And I really should talk to your parents.”
Elliot sighed heavily. “You really want to talk to them, don’t you?”
“You guys shouldn’t be fighting because of me.”
A frustrated noise escaped Elliot and he pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Fine. We’ll go back. But I’m not letting them speak about you like that again. That was insane, I still can’t believe they did that.” Cliff, too, thought it was out of character for Elliot’s parents to behave with so much aggression. But he assumed he had simply done something horrible enough to deserve it.
They had only made it about ten minutes away from the house, but it took them twice as long to get back because Cliff kept asking Elliot to pull over so he could dry heave some more. The air was getting colder and soon Cliff was shivering. But the heat blowing on his face made him nauseous, the shivering made him nauseous, and the driving did too. It seemed there was no solution to make Cliff less miserable, and by the time they parked Cliff wasn’t sure he could make it to the door.
“Give me a minute,” he panted, clutching onto the door handle so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Everything was spinning too damn fast. These awful episodes of vertigo often accompanied the days when his stomach had decided not to behave even a little bit, and they were miserable.
“I could carry you,” Elliot suggested eventually. Cliff could not find it in him to come up with something more polite than the hysterical little snort he gave as an answer. He couldn’t think of anything that would make him seem even more pathetic to Elliot’s parents. “Okay, well, you need to lie down, being in the car is making it worse,” Elliot said. He turned off the ignition and came around the passenger side to help Cliff out. “Hold on to me.” He snaked an arm under Cliff’s armpits and helped stand up. Cliff told himself he just needed to get inside so he could lie down on a bed or even a couch - maybe even the floor - and pass out.
Elliot practically did carry him as they navigated up the steps onto the porch. Elliot knocked, and when his mom came to the door she clearly looked like she had been crying. “Elliot, what’s wrong?” She asked right away, alarmed by the stare of Cliff.
“I gotta get him on the couch,” Elliot said gruffly, pushing past her with Cliff in his arms. He lowered Cliff onto the couch in the living room and covered him with a blanket from the back of it. Cliff whispered a thin thank you, and Elliot gave his hand a squeeze. “What do you need?” He asked.
“Nothing,” Cliff said, trying to concentrate on breathing. He felt like his eyes were rolling backwards every time he had them open, so kept them closed. “I’m just really nauseous, it’ll go away. I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Elliot rubbed his arm.
“Sorry.” Cliff managed to force a half smile in an attempt to lighten the mood, and Elliot smiled back. Mr. and Mrs. Caruso were now in the living room too, clearly trying to figure out what they were supposed to be doing in this situation.
“Putting his feet up might help,” Mrs. Caruso suggested. “Go get some water, dear.”
As Mr. Caruso obliged, Elliot followed his mom’s instructions and stacked a few pillows at the end of the couch. He lifted Cliff’s feet up and stuck them on top, even when Cliff muttered about getting things dirty with his shoes. He felt a cold glass of water pressed against his lips and took a small sip, although it was barely enough to wet his mouth because he was so afraid to start vomiting again. “Thanks,” he mumbled. He hoped at least Elliot’s parents still remembered him well enough to know Cliff was not willingly seeking out all this drama.
Slowly, things began to stop spinning. The nausea and stabbing pain in his stomach eased its tight grip and Cliff felt like he could actually breathe again. Now able to process the scene around him, he grew self conscious. Elliot and both his parents were just staring at him, worried and waiting for something to happen next. “I’m okay,” Cliff said meekly. “My stomach is just all messed up.”
“From the ulcers?” Mrs. Caruso asked seriously.
Cliff made a vague noise of agreement in response. To be honest, he didn’t know. The pain he had these days felt different than the burning that his stomach ulcers came with. It was more of a twisting, stabbing pain that only ever eased up, but never fully went away. It always got worse when Cliff ate, and he had known eating tonight had been risky in the first place. But he had told his doctor about it, who seemed to think it was just the ulcers and increased his omeprazole and sucralfate doses. It wasn’t helping, but Cliff wasn’t one to complain about a problem just because he didn’t like the solution he’d been given. He assumed he just had to wait it out.
“Mom, I don’t think Cliff’s in good shape to go home tonight,” Elliot said reluctantly. “Do you think we could...”
Mrs. Caruso sighed. She looked beat, and Cliff knew it was his fault. As always, he was causing problems. “Of course, honey.”
Elliot gave Cliff another several minutes before he attempted to lead him up the stairs to the bedroom. “You’ll feel way more comfortable in bed,” he tried to persuade Cliff. Cliff didn’t know if Elliot’s childhood bed - the single bed they’d slept on together so many times and had made so many memories in - was the greatest idea. It felt too fast, just like coming here at all had felt fast. But he didn’t have a choice at this point unless he wanted to stay on the couch where Elliot’s parents would constantly walk by and stare at him, so he conceded to the task of getting upstairs.
Elliot nearly did carry Cliff this time, Cliff’s stubborn legs not wanting to lift themselves high enough to get up the stairs. “Just let me go slow,” Cliff panted as Elliot hovered nervously next to him, hands outstretched to catch Cliff if he fell. He held Cliff’s crutches as Cliff clung to the bannister for dear life. Elliot’s dad was at the bottom of the stairs, and Cliff just knew he was thinking about the best way to grab both of them if Cliff took Elliot down with him. The poetry of the thought was laughable, and Cliff snorted to himself which earned a baffled look of worry from Elliot.
Eventually, Cliff made it to the top. He was covered in sweat and nauseous again, practically crawling to the bathroom as soon as he finished his ascent to gag up what little water he’d drank on the couch. Nothing else came up after the first small wave, but he stayed hunched over the toilet for another minute to be safe. “Do I need to be more worried about this whole thing?” Elliot fretted as Cliff clambered onto his feet to wash his hands.
“No,” Cliff said, avoiding looking at his pallid reflection in the bathroom mirror.
“You sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
They got into Elliot’s bedroom and it looked just like Cliff remembered it: the same band posters and duvet and desk. All the nostalgia nearly knocked the wind out of him, or whatever was left after all the vomitting. He sat on the bed and Elliot got out some sweats for him. “You probably want to change. I’ll go get you some water. Do you need anything else?”
Cliff shook his head. He had a small pill case in his bag with his oxygen, which he was supposed to always carry just in case. Tylenol, oxycodone, zofran, antacids, inhalers, prednisone. He never really had to get into the little case because he never left the house long enough to need them, so it was less than a day’s worth of supply. Thankfully he had remembered them at all, because the idea that they may have had to stay in a hotel overnight had crossed his mind. It wasn’t all of his nightly meds, but it was enough to get him by until tomorrow. Cliff changed into the sweats Elliot had provided him. They used to be the same size, but Elliot had grown an inch and Cliff had lost so much weight that the waistband barely hung on to his hips even when tied them as tightly as possible. He picked one of each pill out of the plastic pill container and downed them all in one gulp after Elliot returned with a glass of water.
“There’s not a lot of space on the bed,” Elliot said awkwardly. “I can sleep in my brother's room.”
“Alright,” Cliff said, just as awkwardly. They were still in such a strange place - two people who knew each other so intimately, probably better than anybody else, and yet they had to start from the beginning. They’d already kissed and held hands, cuddled up on the couch while watching TV, but not more than that. Sleeping together had certainly not come into play yet, even fully clothed. The fact that they had slept together in this exact bed - even been intimate in it - just made sleeping apart feel weirder now.
“Well,” Elliot said. “Get some rest.” Then he closed the door and Cliff was left alone in a bedroom that hadn’t changed in three years apart. He crawled under the sheets and fell asleep almost immediately, exhausted from the ordeal in the car.
When he woke up, it was dark. It took Cliff a second to remember where he was: Elliot’s parents’ house. It felt so strange, but at least things weren’t as hazy and nothing was spinning. Cliff realized he was parched and found a small glass of water on the bedside table that he assumed Elliot had left him while he was asleep. He drank all of it, then checked his phone for the time - it was just past eight. Cliff pushed himself up into a sitting position, his body heavy and aching. As much as he wanted not to move, he felt like he ought to tell Elliot he was feeling better. First, though, he wanted more water.
Cliff’s crutches were leaning against the chair at Elliot’s desk, and the spare battery for his oxygen compressor was plugged into the wall to charge. Both of which had to be Elliot’s doing, just like the water had been. Elliot was always so considerate, Cliff thought to himself. So endlessly selfless, and it just came naturally to him. Cliff, on the other hand, was naturally selfish. This whole night had been selfish: he should have done things differently. He shouldn’t have come at all. It was foolish to hope for a better outcome.
Cliff slid from bed, put his crutches on his forearms and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. The stairs had been such trouble going up, but now that the world was no longer whirling by like he was on a teacup ride at the fair he didn’t have much difficulty navigating them. The light was on in the kitchen and there sat Rachel Caruso drinking tea and reading a book.
“Oh, excuse me,” Cliff said. “Sorry, I was just getting some water.” Maybe it would have been less awkward not to announce himself, if the way Mrs. Caruso was looking at him over her reading glasses was any indication.
Cliff filled the cup up at the sink and then hastened to go back upstairs when Mrs. Caruso sighed. “Cliff, I don’t want things to be awkward between us if you’re going to be around for a while,” she said.
“Me neither,” Cliff said automatically. He hovered in front of the table and then took a huge chance: he sat down. “But I’m not hoping to be around for just a while. I intend to be around as long as Elliot will let me.”
“And how long is that going to be?” She asked, bookmarking her page and taking off her glasses.
“Forever, I hope,” Cliff said. The stark honesty embarrassed him, but if there was ever a time to be honest it was now. Anything less had only screwed him over with Elliot in the past. “I know I can’t change what happened in the past, but for what it’s worth I am sorry. To Elliot, and to you guys. If it’s any consolation I regret it every day.”
“Regret isn’t enough,” Mrs. Caruso said sharply. Cliff winced. No, he knew regret wasn’t enough. He could regret all he wanted and it meant nothing without action. So here he was now, taking action, even though it was unnatural for him to be so forward. “Cliff, I know you are a nice young man. But intentional or not, you really hurt my child. You don’t know how bad it was.”
She was right. Cliff didn’t know how bad it was, but he could guess. He’d heard rumors, none of them pretty. “Elliot is doing well,” Mrs. Caruso continued. “Really well. You can’t ruin this for him. His career, or his health.”
“I know,” Cliff said.
“I don’t think you do.”
“No, I do,” Cliff insisted, coughing as he raised his voice a bit too loud. He wondered where Elliot was right now. Probably in his brother's room, unaware of this conversation happening about him. He’d probably hate it if he knew about it. Cliff took a long breath and forced himself to risk being honestly. “I know I don’t deserve another chance but Elliot is giving me one and I’m not going to waste it. I understand why you don’t want me to be with him, but I’ve spent my entire life doing what other people wanted and it got me nowhere. Elliot is worth everything to me. He is the only person worth it. Please just give me a chance to show you I’ve changed. And if you can’t, I’m sorry you feel that way but I’m still not giving up.”
It was about the most words Cliff had ever said to Mrs. Caruso at once and the mini speech left him winded. He forced himself not to break eye contact and scurry away like his cowardly instincts screamed for him to do. He couldn’t read the expression she was making. There was a long silence before Mrs. Caruso opened her mouth.
“He won’t be able to bear it if you break his heart again.”
The words, practically whispered, nearly broke Cliff’s own heart. He had hurt Elliot so much in the past that his mother was here begging Cliff to step away. For any other reason, Cliff would have, but it was Elliot. Cliff could never let Elliot go, even if he tried. “I’m going to do it right this time,” Cliff said. “I’ve worked on myself and I’m taking care of my health and I don’t talk to my parents anymore. Maybe it’s not enough now but I will spend the rest of my life making it enough, I swear.”
The slow nod Cliff received was so faint that he might have imagined it. “Okay,” Cliff breathed. “Okay. Thank you. I’m just… going to go back upstairs then.”
“Cliff,” she said before he was out of earshot. “Be careful. Please.”
“I will,” Cliff said. “I promise.”
After struggling to get up the stairs in one piece without spilling the water, he made it halfway to Elliot’s bedroom before another door opened. Elliot started when he saw him in the hallway. “Cliff! You’re up. Wow, you look way better.”
“I’m fine now, sorry about all the drama,” Cliff said. “My stomach’s really weird and just did not want to deal with food at all today.”
“That’s okay,” Elliot said. He didn’t move, leaving the two of them just standing there staring at each other in the dim hall. “Are you going to sleep now?”
“Uh… Probably not,” Cliff said. “It’s pretty early.”
“Want to watch a movie on my laptop together?” Elliot offered. “Or I got the third season of Breaking Bad on DVD from Milo, it’s really good. I’m trying to catch up before the fourth season starts airing.” Cliff knew Elliot was nervous babbling a little and hid a smile.
“Yeah, we can watch that,” Cliff said. He’d never seen the show, but it didn’t matter. He doubted he’d be that into it. “In here?” He nodded towards Elliot’s bedroom, thinking it’d be weird to watch it on Elliot’s brother’s bed.
Elliot nodded in agreement, grabbed his laptop and joined Cliff in his bedroom. They propped themselves up with pillows at the head of Elliot’s bed and Elliot balanced his laptop on bent knees. “I already watched the first episode of the season, but we can rewatch it if you want,” he said. They were very close, their shoulders tucked side by side. It felt every bit like being nineteen and in college, and Cliff had to actively try not to get caught up in the nostalgia of the moment.
“It’s okay, it won’t make a difference to me since I’ve never seen it. I vaguely know what the show’s about though.”
“See, you probably think you know what it’s about, but it’s way better than its reputation as ‘guy with cancer becomes a drug dealer,’ I swear.”
Cliff laughed. Elliot’s passion for TV was clearly still going strong. “Alright, I trust you. Just play it.”
Elliot grinned and started the episode. Not ten seconds in, without taking his eyes off the screen, he said, “Were you talking to my mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah. She’s just worried about you. But I tried to… talk to her and make her a little less worried.”
Elliot fell quiet again, until the characters began to talk and he paused the show. “Did it work?” He asked. He sounded so hopeful.
“I think a little bit,” Cliff answered. “I promised her I’m not going to hurt you again and I’m not going anywhere.”
Elliot’s head turned sharply to look at Cliff, expression shocked. “You really told her that?”
“I did. It was very cheesy, but I meant it.” Cliff himself was already cringing at everything he’d said, knowing he’d sounded more like a character in a soap opera than his normal reserved self.
“Wow,” Elliot said slowly. He turned back to the screen. “Well, thanks.”
“I know just saying it doesn’t do anything,” Cliff said. “But I’m going to do it, too.”
Cliff could see Elliot’s throat bob as he swallowed. “You’re already doing it,” Elliot said gently. Then he pushed play, but not before Cliff caught a little smile on his lips.
