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I wait as long as I can stand before making an excuse to Selene about needing to leave. She was concerned too, but seemed unreasonably certain that Derek would get Kylie home and she’d be fine.
I don’t give a fuck what Derek will or won’t do. I’m worried out of my mind for Ky. She deteriorated so fast. Her face lost all its color, and there were deep dark circles under her eyes.
I race over to her apartment and find a spot across the street. I don’t see Derek’s car out front, but he could have parked around the block. I hope he didn’t make her walk too far. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had to carry her inside. I run up to the door and knock. At this point, I know it looks weird for me to come over, and Derek’s going to be pissed. But fuck it. I don’t give two shits.
No one answers. I knock again. Maybe he took her to the hospital. Is she that sick?
I put my ear to the door, listening. I definitely hear something. In fact, I’m sure she’s in there. I decide I don’t care if Derek knows I have a key. I put it in, but the door isn’t locked.
The smell of vomit hits me like a truck as soon as I walk in. It’s sickly sweet and very fresh. It’s all over the floor, trailing up the short hallway. My stomach turns at the sight.
I hear Ky heaving, then a splash of water. Shit. I run down the hall, careful not to step in the puke.
I find her on her knees in front of the toilet, leaning forward, her hands on her thighs. Her back moves up and down as she takes big breaths.
“Kylie,” I say. There’s more vomit on the floor. I grab a towel, I don’t even give a fuck which one, and wipe it to the side so I can kneel next to her.
“Braxton?” she says, her voice weak.
“Yeah, baby girl. Where’s Derek?”
“He dropped me off,” she says.
What in the actual fuck?“He left you like this?”
“I threw up in his new car.”
I’m so mad I almost can’t see straight, but Ky sounds so miserable. She groans, clutching her stomach.
“Are you gonna throw up more?” I ask. I rub my hand across her back.
She nods. I pull her hair back—some of it’s wet, but I ignore that—and keep it out of her way while her body convulses. I don’t think there’s anything left for her to throw up. She heaves and gags, but not much comes out. She’s pretty empty.
She sits back on her heels, taking shuddering breaths. I keep her hair back in case she isn’t done. She closes her eyes and seems to relax a little. I try to ignore the smell, not let it touch me.
“I think I’m done,” she says, flushing the toilet. “For now, I guess.”
“Can you stand?” I ask.
“Maybe.”
I let go of her hair and take her hands, helping her to her feet. She’s got puke all over—it’s in her hair, soaking the front of her shirt, and on her skirt.
“You need a shower,” I say, but I immediately know I’m not letting her take one alone. She looks so weak, I don’t know if she can hold herself up.
“I’m freezing.”
I glance around the bathroom, trying to think of how to make this work. She’s filthy. I can’t believe I’m about to do this. She’s with Derek. He should be the one taking care of her, showering her off.
Oh well, fuck you, Derek. You left her here when she’s sick, you douche.
I untie her halter top at the back of her neck and gently pull it over her head.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Let’s get you cleaned up so you can lie down.”
She doesn’t protest as I take off her skirt, just stands there in a strapless bra and black panties, shivering. It’s not cold in the bathroom, and her cheeks are flushed red, but she acts like she’s outside in the middle of winter.
