Page 95 of I’m Already Gone

She nods. “I’ll start dinner,” she says, giving my arm a quick, firm pat before heading toward the kitchen.

Lily

God, why am I swimming in my own sweat? Moving every muscle feels like trying to lift a sandbag. Is this what it feels like to wake up from a coma?

My eyelids peel open. The light that filters through the drawn blinds is soft, and lavender fills the air.

I struggle to shift my legs and arms, but they are weighed down by something heavy. I glance down to see that I am swaddled in my plush, oversized comforter. My body freezes when I hear quiet breathing, other than mine, in the room. I turn my head slowly to my right and see Ethan.

He is slumped in the armchair across the room, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. He looks exhausted. The worry lines around his eyes are painfully visible even in the dim light. I have a desperate urge to reach out and smooth them away.

A sudden, violent spasm seizes my stomach.

Oh, God. No. I need to get out of this bed now.

I fight to sit up, but my limbs refuse to obey my command to move.

“Et-Ethan?” I manage.

No response.

“Ethan?”

Nothing.

I let out a low, miserable groan and clutch my stomach. Forcing myself sideways, I roll off the bed, comforter and all. My body hits the carpet with a muffled thump.

“Shit!” Ethan is instantly awake. “Lily! I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

He is at my side before his voice fades. My stomach isn’t waiting another second. I barely have time to wrench my head away from the carpet before the first wave hits. A whimper escapes my lips, fueled by the sheer humiliation of having Ethan witness my weakness.

He turns me onto my side, supporting my forehead with a firm, warm hand. I brace for the inevitable look of fear, but when I meet his eyes, there is nothing but compassion.

“It’s okay, Sunshine. I’ve got you.”

He works quickly, unwrapping the tangled comforter from my legs and hoisting me up into his arms. He rushes us toward the bathroom, but his pace is measured. Fast enough to be urgent, but slow enough not to jostle me further.

He sets me down in front of the toilet. I barely register the cold porcelain before the second, more violent wave hits.

“That’s it, Lily. Let it out. And then we’re going to get you cleaned up.” His voice is steady and low, the only thing keeping me together.

My body sags forward, completely spent. I feel a cool, damp cloth wiping my mouth and jaw.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, tears mixing with the sweat and the awful acidic taste lingering in my mouth.

“Shut up,” Ethan scolds, but his tone is featherlight. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

He waits, letting the quiet settle, letting me breathe before he speaks again. “Think you can manage to stand? A warm shower will help.”

“No, I don’t think so.” I shake my head, the effort making my vision blur.

“It’s okay,” he says. He pauses, his voice dropping slightly, laced with that familiar awkward tenderness. “Can... can I remove your clothes, then?”

I hesitate, shame flaring hot despite the nausea. I don’t want him to see me naked. Since the chemo, I’ve lost a significant amount of weight; my clothes practically hang off me, and my ribs and collarbones are starting to jut out like sharp edges. But the thought of being covered in vomit for another minute is worse. So, I give him a weak nod.

He switches the shower on. The sound of rushing water fills the air as steam begins to rise, curling around us like a warm blanket.

His fingers brush against the clammy skin of my stomach as he finds the hem of my T-shirt. His light touch makes me shiver. He pulls the shirt slowly over my head and tosses the soiled fabric onto the tiled floor, leaving my chest bare. I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes, so I keep mine fixed on the smooth tiles.