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I have to stop talking to keep control of the sharp contraction in my stomach.
The top half of my body convulses as I hold back the upward thrust of my insides. There’s no hope of me making it out of this room with the contents of my stomach where they should be.
Christ, this is going to be embarrassing.
A second wave is on its way, and there’s not a chance in hell of me holding this one back. I scan the vicinity for some kind of container or vessel, anything I can stick my head in rather than splatter my guts all over the beige carpet.
I drop to my knees next to the recycling bin, and that’s it. Game over. Pizza, wine, and those godforsaken chicken dumplings all make a reappearance.
And here we have it, the most humiliating moment of my life. Oh, for an invisibility cloak, or for the floor to open up and suck me into an alternate universe. I’d even take an alien abduction right about now.
“Hey, it’s okay,” says a soft voice behind me as a hand gently pulls my vomit-dripping ponytail out of my face.
9
ELLIOT
Who knew it’s possible to find someone attractive while puke dribbles from the corner of their mouth, their eyes water, and beads of sweat form on their forehead? Yet somehow all of that might even add to Charlotte’s cuteness, not detract from it.
“Christ, have I poisoned you?” I hold her ponytail behind her as she leans on my recycling bin.
She shakes her head and stares blankly at the vomit sliding off the flattened coffee bean box sitting on top. “It was the dumplings.”
“Dumplings?”
She nods. “Vivian brought them in for lunch. Leftovers from her neighbor’s birthday party at the weekend. They were chicken. I haven’t felt right since.”
“Ah. Lethal.” At least it wasn’t anything I did.
She wretches again. Tears stream from her eyes and her cheeks turn bright red as another stream of semi-digested stomach contents gives the coffee bean box a second drenching.
I rub her back, which probably serves no practical purpose, but it might help her feel better. It certainly makes me feel better. This is the most sustained physical contact Charlotte and I have ever had. These are not the circumstances under which I’d have chosen to have it, but all that matters right now is that I do whatever I can to get her through this.
Her knuckles whiten as she grips the sides of the blue bin. “Oh God. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her, making slow circles on her back, my fingers passing over the outline of her bra.
“It isn’t. I’m so embarrassed.” Tears continue to stream from her eyes. I’m not sure if that’s from the puking or if she’s now actually crying.
I reach behind me with the hand not keeping her ponytail from dangling in the contents of the bin, and manage to get a grip on the napkins next to the pizza box.
“Here.” I pass her one.
“Thank you.” She wipes her eyes and mouth and takes a deep breath. “This is awful. Just awful. So humiliating.”
“Don’t be silly. You can’t help it. Bad dumplings are bad dumplings.”
She shakes her head and looks at me, her reddened eyes wide, then leans over the bin and lets another gutload fly.
“Ah, sorry.” I dab the end of her ponytail with another napkin. “Promise not to mention them again.”
She nods and wipes her face. “Just the thought… urgh… unbearable. I hope Vivian’s okay.”
Typical of Charlotte. At her lowest, pukiest ebb, her concern is for someone else’s welfare.
“We can call her in a bit. But let’s get you home.”
“Not yet.” She sits back on her heels, and I let go of her hair. “I don’t know if this has stopped yet. I don’t want to throw up in someone’s car.”
