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Kiersten
The shrill ringing of the phone against my ear increases the headache pounding in my skull for the past three days. I hug the toilet bowl, grateful I keep my bathroom clean and don’t have any nasty roommates. I never understood when people would do this in movies and personally reserve toilet hugging for my own house—like right now. If I’m anywhere else, I do the aerial puke, the bend and aim, anything other than get all down and dirty on the place people set their ass cheeks.
“Hello?” Cami finally picks up. Her gravelly voice clues me in to what day it is, and that I interrupted her sleep after her shift.
“I am so sorry, but I’m dying here. Please help,” I groan pitifully.
“Kiersten? What’s wrong?”
“Can you bring me some fluids? I can’t keep water down.” I retch and pull the phone away to muffle the sound. When I bring it back to my ear, she yells unintelligibly at me.
“Calm down,” I gurgle. “Drinks, electrolytes, soup, and crackers please.”
“Of course. I’ll be right over, sweetie.”
“You’re an angel,” I slur and hit the end button. My phone clatters to the floor. I rest my forehead against the cool porcelain and use my forearms to prop myself upright.
Time trickles in a molasses bubble. My eyelids blink heavily, and I nod off. The jingle of keys and the front door creaking startle me awake. I assume Cami’s here. Though, getting murdered at this point would feel like a tickle compared to the misery I’ve experienced.
Footsteps pad down the hall. “Oh, ew, you stink.” Her muffled voice tells me she’s covered her nose. She creeps into the bathroom and flushes the toilet for me.
“Thanks,” I croak.
The tap turns on and off, and a cool, damp cloth settles on the back of my neck.
“You really are an angel.”
Cami sits on the edge of the tub and rustles around in her purple polka-dotted fabric tote. “What the hell is going on? Do I need to take you in?”
I wave her off and roll my head to face her. “I haven’t even been drinking. I felt like hell on Sunday. Monday, I felt better and went to work, but it’s steadily gotten worse, and today, I didn’t go to work at all.”
She retrieves a bottle of Pedialyte. “I heard you called in. I meant to check in with you, but work was a nightmare. I came home, showered, and went to bed. I didn’t even eat the dinner Law heated up for me. It’s good you woke me up because I finally got some food in me.”
I retch again. “Please don’t talk about food.”
“I’m sorry.” She rubs my back with circles meant to soothe. “What can I do? I brought everything you asked.”
I tug the cloth from my neck to wipe my face. “If you don’t mind putting it away, that’d be great. I’m just glad to know I have something to eat when I’m ready for it. The thought of dragging myself to the store like this was paralyzing. Knowing me, I’d accidentally puke on somebody and wouldn’t that just be the most mortifying moment of my life?”
“I thought the most mortifying moment was when you were doing the dollar dance at Luce’s wedding and you accidentally tripped and farted at the same time.”
“Thank you,” I mutter. “Thank you so very, very much for reminding me of that other horrible moment in my life. You’re a great friend.”
Cami sniggers. “I’m just trying to take your mind off being sick, friend.” She lowers herself next to me on the floor and pinches my limp, clammy wrist between her index finger and thumb.
“What’re you doing?” I mumble.
“What I do for a living. Giving
you an assessment to see if I need to take you in.”
Another wave of vomit steals any retort, and bless her little heart for not reacting. She keeps on working, slapping on a blood pressure cuff and a pulse oximeter. When she’s done, she sits back on her heels and waits for me to finish a fresh round of puking.
“Well, your vitals don’t concern me enough to load you into my car and take you to the emergency room. So what else have you gotten into this week, if not drinking? Undercooked meat? Raw cookie dough?” She attempts a lighthearted guess.
“No, and no, and I don’t know. I’m not a child. I didn’t ingest cleaning products.” I push off from my throne and uncap the electrolyte drink.
“Are you pregnant?”
