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I strain to take a step, but two hands scoop me up. Then, I’m held tight. Burrowing my head in his chest, I try to hide my eyes from the sunlight as much as possible. With careful steps, he carries me to my house.
Then, it’s dark and cool.
“Where are your pills at, hon?”
“Um . . . Bathroom.”
Hugging me tighter, he carries me through my house. We make it all the way to the bathroom before the nausea rears its ugly head again. Practically leaping out of his arms, I make it to the toilet just as everything in my stomach comes up.
There’s a slight creak as my medicine cabinet opens. “What pills do you need, Sweetheart?”
“Um . . .” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and toss off my sunglasses. It takes a minute for me to recall and even longer to regurgitate the names for my nausea and pain medicines.
There’s more shuffling as I clench my eyes shut and grasp my head. It feels like my brain has swollen to twice its normal size and it’s trying to explode out of my skull. My eyes burn. I’m sure they’re the color of lemons by now. My body aches, all of my joints, all of my nerves, all of my skin as though if someone were to touch me, I would start bleeding and it would all fall off.
A tear falls down my cheek before it’s wiped away with soft hands. “Here, Sweetheart.”
Like sandpaper rubbing against my eyeballs, I peel my eyelids open and nod. A warm, caring face with bright green eyes greets me. My heart tugs at my ribcage, wishing he didn’t have to see me like this. He hands me a glass of water and several pills. He brushes my hair out of my face and secures it in a loose ponytail. After washing my face, neck, and arms, he hands me a cool washrag. Placing it over my eyes and forehead, I try to cool down, to soothe the pain.
Squatting down in front of me, Brendan cups my cheek. “Do you want us to help you out of your dress and into something comfier?”
Lifting my makeshift eye mask just enough, I glance down at my outfit. Small dots of orange vomit stain the wrinkled dress. Where there’s no throw up, it’s covered in sand. Sighing, I nod.
“Alright,” he kisses the top of my head, “we’ll be right back.”
Leaning against the vanity, I close my eyes and try to clear my head of all thoughts. Thinking only makes the pain worse. As I exhale, both brothers shuffle back into the cramped space. With gentle movements, they ease me out of my dress and into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.
More tears streak down my cheeks. Everything about them is soft and gentle, caring beyond what anyone else has ever done for me.
“Hey,” Brendan leans closer, wiping my tears away, “it’s going to be fine. We’re here for you. Anything you need.”
Taking his hand, I squeeze it as tight as I can. “I just . . . I just need rest.”
“Okay, Little Girl.” He brings our connected hands up to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “Get some rest.”
“Do you want help to your bed?”
I glance around. My stomach turns. “No. Not yet.”
“Okay. If you need anything, we’re right here.”
As he rises, Breckin leans down and kisses the top of my head before joining his brother in the doorway. They share a look. Breckin squeezes Brendan's shoulder. He nods, then they both leave.
I try to decipher that look in their eyes, but my stomach turns as I contemplate whether it was just pity or regret, resulting in me throwing up, again. And again. When all I’m doing is dry-heaving, I make my way out of the bathroom and down the hall to the living room.
I need them. Just them.
Finding both guys on the couch, I curl up in their laps and try to sleep. But, after my third trip of rushing to the bathroom to puke, I drag a blanket in with me and set up camp.
“Hey, Sweetheart,” Breckin pokes his head in after I flush the toilet from my latest stomach cleansing, “how are you feeling?”
With my elbows still resting on the toilet seat, I turn to face him.
“Okay, Prude,” Brendan interrupts, pushing into the room and kneeling down, “we tried this your way. It’s been three hours and you’re not getting better.”
“Three?”
“Yeah, Little Girl,” he cups my chin in his large hand, “I think it’s time we head to the hospital.”
