Page 13 of Dream On, Liar

After a few minutes, once I started to dry heaving, my limbs feeling like they’ve just been turned into mush, I flushed the toilet, and just…stayed there for a moment. My breath came out harshly, and I wondered if there was a chance my body had any more surprises lined up for me. Once I was sure I wasn’t going to get sick again, I grabbed some of the toilet paper and wiped my mouth clean, flushed it before stepping out of the stall.

Avoiding meeting my own eyes in the reflection, I turned the tap on, letting the cold water run over my hands before splashing some onto my face. I wished it helped, but all it did was remind me of the fact that I hadn’t slipped into an alternative reality.

“Pull. Yourself. Together.” I snapped at myself, voice rough as I stepped back out into the store, the florescent lights cutting sharply in my vision.

I’d barely driven for ten minutes before my stomach rumbled, and instead of driving on and having an internal debate about whether I was actually about to sick or not, I pulled over at the closest petrol station, and well, clearly, it had been a smart decision.

Grabbing the first toothpaste and brush I could spot in the aisle, I made my way back to the toilet, desperate to brush off the taste that was determined to settle in my mouth if I didn’t do anything about it.

Still avoiding my own eyes, I rinsed, brushed, rinsed again…until I felt sure the lingering nausea was gone.

I dried my hands and walked back out. This time, the lights felt bearable and I knew my bones took that as a small victory. Walking down to crisps aisle, I searched for where they had the oven baked cheese and jalapeno crisps. My favourite. The one thing I knew wouldn’t fail me. My emotional support snack, as Samyra—my best friend, and flatmate—had once dramatically labelled it during a particularly bad finals week.

Grabbing the packet, I walked down to the chilled aisle, picking up a pack of cheese dunkers along with a drink. Somewhere deep down, a part of me knew this was a bad idea. That food was not how I should have been coping, especially as my breakfast had already made its way out of my body. But it was either this or…crying it out. And I was even less of a fan of that option. Chewing on my lower lip, I debated putting the items back, and instead simply grabbing a smoothie when my phone vibrated in my pocket.

My heart thudded at the possibility of it being my father. Maybe…just maybe, he’d realised he’d been harsh with me, harsher than he’d ever been before, and he was calling to apologise.

Yeah, right.

If my mother’s words were anything to go by, or my own experience, there was a much higher chance of my father gifting me something to make up for it than actually apologising.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, my stomach twisting with a strange cocktail of hope and dread. The screen lit up against my palm.

Not my father.

Samyra.

A breath escaped me before I could stop it, equal parts relief and disappointment tangling together like crossed wires. Of course it was Samyra. She had some kind of sixth sense for when my life was collapsing in on itself. If the world ever ended, I was fairly sure she’d text me before the emergency alerts went out.

I’d known Samyra since my first year of university. In an accommodation flat with six other people, we’d somehow manage to befriend only each other—after what started as an annoyed rant about how messy our other flatmates were after just one week, somehow ended up with us discussing about our entire lives until two in the morning. We’d seen each other at our best, our worst, and every strange in-between version we hadn’t quite figured out yet.

I started at it for another second, thumb hovering as my eyes landed on my own reflection. I could ignore it, save myself from explaining why my eyes were reddened, and why my face looked pale. But, considering she already knew I was driving down to see my father, this call wasn’t completely out of order, and also meant, she’d just ring me until I gave in.

Sighing, I swiped across, my thumb accepting the video call as I walked back to the till.

“Hey, how did it…” Her voice trailed off, her focus turning back to her phone. Her smile vanishing as she took in my appearance.

Even through the bad reception, my best friend still looked like she was about to walk into a fashion show. Thick dark hair framed her round face in soft layers, curling neatly at her shoulders like she’d stepped out of a shampoo advert instead of working from our flat in her bedroom. Her skin practically glowed beneath the sunlight pouring through the window beside her desk, and her eyeliner was still somehow perfectly intact. Samyra treated working from home like she was still walking into her PR agency’s office every morning, always doing her makeup just enough to look polished and put together. She claimed it helped her feel productive and “client-ready,” but over the years I’d learned to read her far better and I knew that she believed that if she looked organised on the outside, everything underneath felt easier to manage too.

Her brows pulled together. “What happened?”

I opened my mouth, already preparing a lie out of pure instinct, but Samyra narrowed her eyes before I could even try.

“Just remember I can tell when you’re lying,” she said, pointing a stern finger at me. “Your eyes are puffy and red, your nose is pink, and you look like you’ve been emotionally waterboarded.”

Despite myself, a short laugh escaped me. “Yeah, that sounds like an accurate guess.”

Instead of adding something, I flipped the camera as I placed the snacks, along with the toothpaste and brush I’d already opened, and used on the counter.

There was a beat of silence.

Her entire face crumpled as she took in the items. What started off as concern, quickly transformed into an alarm. “You threw up?”

“Yeah. Give me a second.” I swallowed brushing past it quickly, turning the camera back to me as the cashier passed me a sad smile and scanned my items.

Her eyes softened immediately as she waited, but I could still hear the gears churning in her head, wondering about what my father had said to me. Especially, as I wasn’t someone with a weak stomach.

Paying for the items, I muttered a soft thank you before rushing out like I had fire up my arse.