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“Stand up,” I rasp, snaking my arms beneath his.
He pulls back, looking up at me through glossy eyes. He looks wrecked, like he’s staring back at his reflection and hating what he sees. He exhales a deep breath before resting an arm around my shoulder for support. I wrap my arm around his waist and give him a comforting smile.
My heart tightens at his trust. Elliot accepts help from no one, so this has to be uncomfortable for him.
“You ready?” I ask softly.
“Yeah,” he mutters.
“Thank you,” I nod towards Adam and begin shuffling my feet. Elliot’s wobbly steps match mine as he uses my much smaller body for balance.
Isn't it ironic? The lonely, abandoned girl carrying the broken, golden boy home. Two lost souls clinging to each other in the cold, foggy night.
The car ridehome from the bar has been utterly silent…until now.
“Fuck, Roxanne,” Elliot groans from the passenger seat, an arm wrapped around his stomach. “Pull over. Pull over right now.”
His face scrunches up in pain. He’s about to be sick.
“Okay, okay,” I rush out, turning on my blinker to get in the right lane.
Elliot makes a gagging sound before crouching over like he’s in agony.
“Dammit, Roxanne,” he says through clenched teeth. “Pull over.” He braces a shaky arm against the dashboard.
“I’m trying,” I mutter quickly, clenching my hand around the wheel and jerking the car into the slow lane. “But I can’t just stop in the middle of the road.”
Another gagging sound falls from his lips.
“Hurry the hell up before I…” he trails off, pinching his brows together. “Oh God,” he mutters before he starts uncontrollably dry heaving.
“Jesus Christ,” I panic, screeching to a halt next to the curb and throwing my car in park.
Elliot yanks the passenger door open before literallycrashing to his knees on the curb. Within seconds, he’s throwing his guts up.
I open my door, not caring that I’m parked in the road, and run to him. I round the car before kneeling behind him and rubbing soft circular patterns onto his back. He goes rigid as soon as he feels my touch.
“Get back in the car, Roxanne,” he mumbles, hanging his head. “This is fucking disgusting.”
“No,” I stand my ground, running my hand up and down his back. “I’m not leaving you here. Not until I know you’re okay.”
I don’t notice the puddle of vomit on the concrete or the wretched smell. I just want to be here for him. I want him to know that he’s not alone. That I’m right here if he needs me.
“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his head as his nails scratch against the pavement. His chest convulses as whiskey and bile splash against the concrete. His shoulders shake as his body attempts to rid itself of the poison.
His whole body is quivering, covered in a layer of sheer sweat.
“I’m right behind you,” I whisper, dancing my fingertips beneath the hem of his shirt to soothe his warm skin. Sparks of electricity run through my veins as my fingers brush against the goosebumps on his skin.
I wonder what it would feel like to really give Elliot the chills from my touch and my touch alone. Right now, I know they’re just because he’s sick. But just once, I want to know what it would feel like to make his skin crawl with need.
Minutes later, his body stills as he sits back on his knees. He closes his eyes and inhales a deep, calming breath. His dark eyelashes rest against his damp skin, looking almost silver beneath the street lights.
“You good?” I question, my fingers trailing down the knobs of his spine.
He swallows and nods.
“Stay right here,” I command before standing from the curb. “Let me get you something to clean up with.”
