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He reaches for the toilet and punches his left hand into the bowl - into his own vomit.
He somehow pulls himself up and hangs over the toilet, puking again.
Pissed at the world, I walk to Ward’s bedroom. I gather up a blanket and a pillow and make what I know will be an uncomfortable bed on the floor just outside the bathroom.
That’s where I sleep.
Or try to sleep.
Throughout the night I wake up randomly.
To check on Ward.
He’s still breathing.
Sometimes my back hurts. Sometimes my neck hurts.
Most of the time I just stare at the ceiling feeling something deep inside my gut.
A reality. A truth.
Then I doze back off.
When it’s finally morning and I give up on anything that resembles rest, I sit up and wait for Ward to move.
I look at him with disgust.
There’s dried vomit on his left hand. He’s got a mix of drool and puke on the floor.
When he does open his eyes, he looks… dead.
“Am I in the hospital?” Ward asks.
“Good morning to you too. You’re in your bathroom. In your dorm. Do you remember anything from last night?”
“No.”
“I just want you to know I came over because I needed you. I needed… never mind.”
“Were you horny?” Ward asks with a grin.
“Wow,” I say.
“What the hell? Are you pissed at me?”
“Ward, I need to leave now. I’m going to Mac’s father’s funeral. In all reality you should be there too. To be next to me. To show support.”
Ward scoffs. “Look at me. I’m a mess right now.”
“You’re always a mess, Ward. I don’t know how much more of this I can take or put up with.”
“What the fuck?” Ward asks. “You’re going to get like this? Right now? Seriously? We’re in college, Mila. We’re partying. Living life. What the fuck?”
I stand up. “You could have died last night, Ward. Do you know what it’s like to watch someone stick their own finger down their own throat and vomit? And then I kept getting up all night to check on you.”
“That was your choice, Mila. Nobody asked you to do that.”
“Fuck you then,” I say. “I’m leaving.”
