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The nearest cubicle is still too far away, and by the time I’m hunched over the toilet bowl, half of my breakfast is cupped in my hand.
“Fuck…”
My voice echoes around the porcelain. Sweat forms across my brow and sends cold shivers through my entire body, making me shake with every hurl my stomach sends shooting up and out of my body.
After a few minutes of violent hurling, I finally think my body has finished punishing me for whatever horrid crime I’ve done to deserve this. I wipe my mouth and tread over to the sink, dabbing cold water on my face.
Old Geoff is waiting outside the bathroom after I’ve cleaned myself up, and beside him is the assistant manager, Julie. Both of them have their arms folded across their chests and Julie is holding a clipboard.
“Ellie?” Old Geoff says, his voice even more serious than usual.
It’s easy to see where this is going, but to be honest, right now, I don’t give a fuck if they fire me. My stomach is growling. My head is starting to pound. Perhaps they could just kill me and put me out of this misery instead?
“Can it wait? I’m really not feeling well…” I say, and I see Old Geoff roll his eyes. When Julie looks up at him, they share a look that isn’t hard to read. No doubt about it - I’m fired. But they can damn well wait. “Look, whatever you’re going to say is going to have to wait. I need to go home before I throw up in my hands again.”
The day had started out so well.
Breakfast cooked by a smoking hot hockey player and a nice hot coffee… Followed by a hard fuck before I’m even dressed. The bright start was always going to be hard to continue with all day, so I accept my fate and grab my things and find the fastest way home.
I crash down on the sofa the minute I crawl inside my freezing cold apartment. Without bothering to switch the heater on, I clutch the blanket draped over the sofa and wrap myself up.
“Urgh…” I shiver, feeling sorry myself. “I fucking hate being sick.”
My head throbs and the bright sunshine blazing through the window isn’t doing me any favours. Wishing I had detoured via the kitchen for some aspirin and a bottle of cold water, I sink back into the soft pillows and hold a wrist over my forehead.
Why the hell do I feel so shit? It’s a stomach bug for sure. Any minute now it’ll all start coming out the other end, and dammit, I’m glad that didn’t happen while I was standing holding those plates of scrambled eggs. Yuk. I feel a twitch in my gut at the thought of those eggs. It’s a shame, because Miles made the best breakfast for me…
As the thought crosses my mind, I wonder whether it might be Miles’ cooking causing my upset stomach. No… It can’t be. It’s not food poisoning, I’ve had that before and the pain in my gut then was like ten times worse than what I’m feeling right now.
Mind you, I’ve seen the contents of his fridge. Safe to say, he eats a lot of take out, and there isn’t ever much food on the shelves of his refrigerator. Who knows how old that bacon is that he cooked.
I reach out for the remote to the TV, and when the screen flashes on, the weirdest sensation flows through my body at the image staring back at me from the screen.
“And the city of Vancouver is mourning today with the news that Miles Johnson, captain and hero of the Vancouver Vikings, has agreed personal terms with the New York Bombers and will see out his career in the USA and not his homeland, Canada.”
My hands start to shake. A new twist in my gut feels different to the one I’ve been feeling all morning. It’s like someone’s kicked me and let me fall to the ground, only to kick me in the guts again.
“And that’s not all, Joy… He’s just found a lovely lady and here’s a shot of them enjoying what might be one of Miles’ last nights in Vancouver…”
An image of me and Miles on the sidewalk just outside of The Bloody Viking flashes on the screen. A stabbing pain digs into my gut, but I can’t look away from the picture. I’m standing on my tiptoes, leaning up with my lips puckered, inches away from Miles’ serious-looking face.
The newsreaders continue blabbering on, but it’s all just a mess of words.
Miles hasn’t ever mentioned moving to New York. I figured he would always stay right here in Canada. This is his home.
Not only that, but he just told me he loved me… Isn’t that worth hanging around for?
Suddenly, my stomach isn’t queasy. At least, if it is, I’m too upset to feel it.
I launch from the sofa and pace back and forth in front of the television. My hands ball and flashbacks of this morning work their way into my mind. We’d just made it. Miles and I were ready to take the next step after hiding everything for the past six months.
I do my best to block out the noise of the newsreaders. They’re cracking jokes, laughing and waxing lyrical about how much of a fantastic move this would be for Miles. To finish his career off in New York City?
Apparently, that’s the dream.
I pull my phone out and write a message to Miles through gritted teeth.
I need answers. And I need them now.
