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As a child, Bruno was intimately aware of the feeling of being sick.
Well not generally “sick”… but rather the feeling of puking.
Anything caused him to puke. The horse ride was too bumpy. He hadn’t eaten before they left for an all-day trip to the town. He ate something that didn’t agree with his stomach such as it being far too sweet.
Sometimes even being too emotionally distressed, a nightmare, would lead to Bruno’s tiny form shaking and grasping the toilet seat for dear life. Even, when they got their gifts, giving too many visions that day or week would end vision sessions short with Bruno hunched over his bucket he kept on hand out of taught habit.
Their mami would soon show up, he never figured out how she knew, rushing in like a hurricane and rubbing his back with assuring words. She’d then ask the townsfolk to leave and Bruno would spend the rest of the day by her side keeping himself busy coloring or helping if he felt well enough.
It wasn’t every day of his life, but it was common enough that everyone knew his tells and he knew how to properly wash his laundry earlier than his hermanas. The way he might start swallowing more consistently, getting quiet, face tensing, or closing his eyes to try and fight off the feeling for as long as possible.
His family was worried but it seemed Bruno was just more sensitive to motion and bodily needs is all. At least, that was what the theory was. Their small town’s local doctor only knew so much from the books he managed to store in a sack while on the run.
Either way, it all stopped when Bruno became severely ill around 12 years old. It wasn’t life-threatening, but it was a miserable week curled up in bed, unable to move. His hermanas were so nice to help care for him alongside their mami, toting food to his bed, replacing the damp rag, even just sitting and talking to him when he felt lonely. Sometimes their mami would sing to him, not rocking, just holding him gently in her arms ‘til he could fall asleep into a feverish dream.
He had felt so bad, nose practically useless, eyes more water and crust than anything, and stomach twisting and coiling around all his organs.
But he never puked once during that time. Not once.
And he’d never do it again since then. Almost like he physically was incapable of such a thing.
But that didn’t mean the feeling decided to leave.
Oh that stayed, it stayed, it stayed.
-
He wasn’t aware when it happened, but at some point, it felt as though Bruno’s sensitive stomach was almost forgotten about. He had stopped puking any chance his body got, so.. They just didn’t even consider it a possibility after a couple years of clean clothes and floors. He was secretly glad he didn’t have to clean as much for it.
But some habits would never seem to die, such as making sure Bruno ate before any trips, or his hermanas not rocking him harshly in hugs. For a while, they would even often ask if it had come back. But other things… changed.
He knew they weren’t doing it to be mean. No no they just were forgetful, tired, and/or stressed that day. After all, he loves his family and they love him. But…
Their mami stopped checking on him when he had pushed his limit and found himself clutching his bucket. Nothing ever came out, but his body roiled and soured at even the idea of continuing. And he’d sit and sit and sit feeling any moment it’d happen.
But it never did.
And the client would get upset, maybe snark, and his mami would get upset, and ask Bruno to stop “playing” around in that disappointed tired voice of hers. To take his job seriously. He wasn’t a child anymore. He had responsibilities.
It hurt but he understood, he could see the deepening lines of stress that accumulated on his mamá’s face that the town had put there even if they didn’t mean to. He just wished- just wanted to say-...
And he’d just nod as he felt acid licking his throat that would never finish the climb. He’d do it, push through it, even if his stomach had phantom cramps and chest remembered what it was like to heave.
He found himself being used to the feeling of coarse sand on his cheek at the end of the day, curled up on himself, eyes squeezed shut to wait for it to pass. To beg for it to pass.
-
The past was forgotten bit by bit, but Bruno’s body always liked to remind him of it.
Eventually, the snacks lessened, the worry redirected towards other aspects of him, the hugs more hands squeezing or even knocks to his shoulders, the “tells” being confused for an involuntary vision. He remembers when green was once associated more with the color in his face than the color in his eyes.
They saw it as him simply past it, grown out of it. Even if Bruno knew better from the plenty of nights he spent camping in the bathroom expecting and expecting for something he knew would never come.
But even Bruno had to move on, even if he kept his eyes squeezed tight from those phantom feelings infecting his body. He got better at hiding it for them.
He could tell them. He could have told them all this time even as his hermanas found the loves of their lives, and even when he gained the honorary title tío. He could have said at any time about the nausea that followed his every step and move, how anything- the growing emotional distress- could set it off but he doubled down, determined to hide it.
Because if he said something.. He’d be an inconvenience, he’d make them feel bad, he’d be annoying, he’d look like a child. And he didn’t want that. No no, he’ll hide it and hide it until he can't. Because he was already causing a blackened smug on the family name, he couldn’t be more of a burden in having them watch what they do to him. All because his body thought it would prefer to remember what it was like to puke than commit.
Pepa would never know the acid that bubbled his throat, nails biting his arm’s flesh to ignore it, as he sat at the wedding he ruined, unable to leave as the best man for Félix and it being his hermana’s wedding.
Julieta would never know the number of nights he spent clutching his abdomen, begging his body to just get it over with, just because she made something with a bit too much sugar for his body to ever consider tolerable despite being fine with it the night prior.
Augustín and Félix would never know that their town trips with him consisted with him feeling ill, quietly swallowing, the whole time from skipping breakfast again especially when one of them would manhandle him away from the staring crowds that steadily grew more common.
The kids would never know that the way they pulled and yanked him around, sometimes up after Luisa got her gift, as they pleased made him want to close his eyes and lay in a corner for days on end.
He would never tell on his living breath.
Because.. Because… well he didn’t have a particularly good reason but if he did. It was a good reason.
Maybe he just loved them all too much.
At least in the walls, it was easier to hold that secret deep in his chest.
-
Oh oh, the feeling was back.
The feeling that haunted Bruno for as long as he could remember.
He should have known riding that horse would bring it up. His dramatics are going to kill him one day he swears.
At first, it felt like something he could ignore as he usually did, the general feeling that lingered in phantoms. It was annoying, but he could manage without even giving a tell.
Everyone was having fun after all, laughing and bonding at the table that found a more permanent, temporary home outside on the hill. A family dinner that truly felt like a proper family dinner after decades of growing tension. Casita’s slowly organized remains lay not too far.
He wouldn’t ruin this.
It was going well, Bruno was even having a silly conversation about the best way to pet a cat with Tonito without being too awkward and weird. He was even enjoying himself, seeing his hermanas and mamá smiling as if nothing mattered.
It was refreshing to see.
But Bruno hadn’t had the best diet prior to his wall life, on purpose, and it definitely got worse when during said wall life, not exactly on purpose.
So as he nervously glanced at his plate that he could never seem to make a dent in, no matter how much he nibbled, made that swirling, rancid feeling threaten to climb.
He tried to not swallow obviously, to keep his conversation going and lively, hand movements and all. He refused to acknowledge the almost curious look Pepa was giving him from across the table.
Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to force himself to attempt a nibble from the arepa Julieta placed on his plate with a pointed look. Maybe he could have avoided this all even if he had her disapproving look burning him instead.
Because the second the sugary undertaste hit his tongue, he couldn’t hide it anymore. He dropped it on his plate, squeezed his eyes shut, and focused on his breathing to force it all back. The bile that teased him for decades now seemed far more threatening, lapping at his tongue. He slapped a hand over his mouth.
Fuck. No no no no. Why here? Why now?!
He absolutely could not risk ruining his clothes, the table, and/or even someone else’s clothes. So despite the worried calls of his name, Bruno pushed up and out of his chair and rushed to the nearby tree line, trying to hide his trembling body behind the largest tree he could see.
Collapsing on his knees, he weakly knocked on the wood next to him while the other dug into the dirt to try and ground himself. The bile was up to his mouth and… nothing was happening.
Why was nothing happening?!
He can literally feel how desperate his body wanted to puke right here and now, chest tense and ready to heave, already stuttering out horrid noises, stomach cramping. It was literally already in his mouth, but he kept swallowing on reflex and nothing could seem to squeeze by clenched teeth. Is his body just that stubborn to prevent the inevitable?!
He couldn’t help the growing frustration. He wanted this to be over, to finally get it over with, to get it all out, all of it. The bad, the good, anything. He just wanted his body to stop rejecting the idea of cleaning itself out. Making him suffer like this, suffer and suffer with no end.
He collapsed further down, flattening himself onto the forest floor, arms pillowing his head. If he did puke, he was risking it to get on his only, current, pair of clothes but he was so desperate now he couldn’t give less of a shit.
Just let him retch, get it out, please please please. Let it out, let it out, let him out.
He would even scream if his jaw wasn’t locked tight, stubborn and unmoving. Nestling his head further into his arms as if that might make him feel any bit better. How long had he even been here?
Eventually the bile obeyed the unwanted command and slipped further back, back into his body. The nauseous feeling still ran full force through him, but at least he just felt absolutely terrible without the risk of ruining his clothes. And wasn’t that a pathetic bar?
The more the urgency receded, the more he became aware of multiple hands caressing his shoulders. When he felt he could brush off his panic and frustrations to the side enough, he slowly brought his arms out to slowly lift up. He didn’t dare move fast with the risk of looping back into that hell.
He kept his eyes shut tight as he moved to a seated position and just lingered there. The hands didn’t leave, still squeezing and rubbing little circles. Just breathe in… hold… now just breath out… and breathe in…
The voices started to flood in as his stomach settled in familiar phantom aches. They were just reassurances, some humming, quiet conversation, it was okay. A bit comforting in a way, almost like white noise.
When he didn’t feel as fragile, he slowly opened his eyes. The hands removed themselves as he watched his most immediate family shuffle in front of him. The five of them shared equal amounts of concern on their faces staring expectantly at Bruno, some were just better at hiding it than others. The conversations behind him must be from the kids he assumed…
“Bruno…” Abuela took his faintly shaking hand, “Are you.. Okay? I haven’t seen..”
Out of reflex, he snapped up his theatrics front, “Well of course. Just a bit of sickness is all,” awkward laughs, smiles, and all.
Julieta took his other hand, “You don’t have to be okay.. You know that right? It’s okay if you aren’t feeling well, you can tell us.”
“She’s right. We’re your family, Bruno. Let us care for you,” Augustín backed up his wife, full force, right on beat. Félix then backed him up with an enthusiastic nod and supportive smile directed at Bruno.
Bruno didn’t like the saddened, almost guilty, looks in all their eyes. This was exactly why he didn’t tell them. He didn’t want whatever this was to happen; he also hated how he was in the spotlight now. His shining days have been well past him since his 20s don’t they know?
The grandkids now made their way around to bring themselves into view. Now it was worse… hay más tristes…
Mirabel spoke up from her end, “Please don’t just ignore this, tío. We’re all trying to work on communication and understanding here after all,” she gave her own awkward smile.
Bruno should talk to her about putting this family leader burden on herself at some point.
He felt his, hopefully charming, smile slip away for a moment. The way they tensed made him remember how they weren’t used to seeing this more serious, almost empty, side of himself. He’s too tired and old for this. At least the circular rubbing motions on his hands felt nice.
Taking a breath to quell the swirling internal phantoms, he said, “I’m not sure if your mamás ever told you but when we were niños chiquitos, I was sick. Quite often. As in, if my body could find any way to justify it, it would make me hurl my lunch like no tomorrow.”
He watched his hermanas agree in their own ways before continuing, “This was a long time ago though. When I was..” he waved his hands around, “I’d say- I want to say around 12? I got really really sick and y’know what? We- Well your abuela and mamás- thought that whole puke ‘til you drop thing was good and all gone! As I haven’t puked ever since.”
The family didn’t seem to know quite how to respond yet as they stared with confused glances. Less of why bring up the story but more of where this is going and how it relates. And Bruno was already tired of talking about this.
“Wait… you said that me, Julieta and mamá thought it was over with? What do you mean,” Pepa brought up. People tended to ignore it but there has always been a sharp, observant look in his hermana’s eyes for as long as he could remember.
He gave a forced chuckle, “Well, uh, you see… I’m not lying that I haven’t puked since then. But, uh.. You know the feeling of like puking? That- that sickly nauseous feeling beforehand?” his hands freed themselves to rotate around each other as if that could convey some sort of meaning.
He waited, patiently mind you, again for them to nod their confirmations again, “I still feel that. Even though, I haven’t been able to puke. I get these like… it’s sort of like phantom nausea? It’s regular nausea but I just feel how my body really really wants to puke for long periods of time. Anything can really set it off, but I can never seem to get my body to actually follow through with the feeling? It just stays bottled up before it passes. I really couldn’t tell you why-”
Bruno tried not to feel a twinge of annoyment at the way Abuela interrupted his rambling with a look. At least she did look a bit regretful after doing it, but oh well.
“Wait.. Why did you not mention this to any of us at any point?” She said, and Bruno was more interested in how she managed to look equal parts disappointed, guilty, upset and concerned.
He gave a bit of a noncommittal shrug even if there was a bitterness simmering below it. 10 years really change people, who knew unresolved tensions could turn to anger and bitterness if left festering long enough.
They didn’t deserve that though.. His anger was more towards his situations with them in general anyways, not even their particular treatment towards something he hasn’t even done since he was child. That would be ridiculous and expecting way too much of them as people. But his feelings still twisted.
Julieta gave a bit of a pointed look towards him and his awkward silence.
He couldn’t help the irritated sigh that slipped by, ignoring their renewed tension while at it, “What do you want me to say? I didn’t want to get in the way? Be a burden? To worry about me? Because I watched all of you stress and fetter about the twenty thousandth problem of the day that wasn’t- that didn’t include having to deal with my reputation alone! What was I even supposed to say? Hey- uh- remember how I used to puke all the time.. Well. No no. I didn’t want to cause any more problems than I already did. And now I’m far too tired to even delve into a quarter of the things on my mind.”
He gave another irritated sigh then slumped a bit in on himself, staring off to the side and picking at his ruana. Waiting for their judgment, their comfort, their anger? He didn’t know, he just said he was tired.
Pepa brought him into a gentle, seated hug that still somehow awkwardly dangled the upper half of his body off the ground, oh he could already feel his knees protesting at their current angle. He was a bit surprised honestly; he couldn’t help hesitating, not used to the concept at this point still, to bring his own arms around her as well.
Four other pairs of arms joined, that he could feel and barely distinguish, soon after. It was a bit suffocating but it did bring the swirling feeling down a low buzz in his core. They let him go at least when he awkwardly squirmed from the position putting a sharp pain on his knees as he expected.
Too bad Pepa’s stern face and crossed arms made his stomach clench again, “We can’t, and couldn’t have helped you if you don’t tell us what’s wrong in the first place.” He almost missed the thunder that never sounded out.
An embarrassed burn in Bruno’s cheeks made his throat clamp on the phantom feeling of bile. A good point, but a bitter retort- of how obvious it would have been had they just looked before he hid it all, how they made him hi- joined his current suppression efforts in his throat.
Julieta cleared her throat and put gentle hands on both her twins’ shoulders, “While you’re not wrong Pepa, we shouldn’t start this off here. There’s,” her eyes became a bit distant, “There’s a lot we need to discuss. This makes it sound like we’re dismissing what he said. He might even have his own reasons why he didn’t tell us. It’s just going to upset us all if we go on the defense from the start…”
“Yeah isn’t that the point of this all? So we start listening and understanding each other,” Camilo butted in, arms crossed and a languid expression. Everyone turned to stare at him, “What?”
Bruno can’t help the chuckle that came out from that, breaking some of the tension, tempted to make a joke but mentally slapping the thought away to not ruin the moment again. He honestly forgot the grandkids were even here to witness decades worth of trauma coming to head even if it wasn’t leading to their home collapsing this time around.
He’d knock his head for not being more aware of his surroundings, but it didn’t feel like the time for his weird habits either.
Abuela cleared her throat and her imposing presence returned, “You’re right, mija. There’s a lot we need to discuss, and I know I need to work on not letting my own… beliefs… blind me. But,” her eyes softened as she took Bruno’s hands into her own, “Let’s start with helping. We now know and that’s what matters.”
Bruno felt himself get pulled up slowly, the nausea seemingly giving a bit of reprieve from the loving look in her eyes he so desperately missed after so long. His hermanas and their husbands joined soon after for another group hug.
It didn’t change anything or truly help, but it felt nice. It felt like things were changing. It didn’t feel like reuniting with his family was a mistake he’d regret. And it made him smile, an honest smile.
Maybe his past’s haunting will lighten, maybe it’ll worsen; he doesn’t know, for once, but.. But this time he wasn’t alone.
He had his familia.