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“Chemo finally hit her,” Nixon says as we get inside the house.
The smell of food from the kitchen hits me as soon as we enter, and my stomach rolls uncomfortably.
“I think…” I gulp down, trying to hold it at bay. “I think I’m gonna be sick again.”
Nixon curses but takes two steps at a time, carrying me up to my room. I cover my mouth with my hands as the bile burns my throat.
“Just a bit more, Smalls.”
The moment we’re in the bathroom, I push open the toilet seat and start throwing up again. Hurried footsteps come from down the hallway. I hear them talking, but the sound of my vomiting muffles their voices. The awful stench isn’t helping because the more I throw up, the worse I feel.
The next thing I know, my hair is pulled out of my face, and a wet cloth is pressed on my neck.
“There, it’s going to be okay,” Prescott whispers, gently rubbing circles against the small of my back.
“I d-don’t…” My words are interrupted by a loud, retching sound. “I don’t want you to see me like this,” I whisper, pressing my forehead against the toilet seat.
Right now, I don’t even have it in me to care how gross this is. I’m all sweaty. I’m hot, I’m cold, and I’m not sure if I threw up everything I had in me or not.
“Well, I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re lucky I don’t have it in me to throw you out.”
“You care about me too much to do that.”
His words echo in the small space as we stare at one another for what feels like an eternity.
No, I don’t just care about him.
I love him.
That’s why I know he shouldn’t have to watch me like this.
Nixon clears his throat. “You think you can get to bed?”
“I need to brush my teeth first.” There is no way I’m going to bed with this rancid taste in my mouth.
Bracing my palms against the toilet seat, I push to my feet. Somehow Prescott, his brace and all, gets up faster and helps steady me.
“I’ve got you.”
I let myself lean against him, enjoying his strength, his warmth, just for a moment. My throat bobs as I swallow. The bitter taste lingers on my tongue, so I take a few steps toward the sink, where I quickly brush my teeth and splash some water on my face. Even that little thing makes me feel half-human again.
Nixon’s head appears in the doorway. “I’ve got you some Gatorade.”
My nose furrows at the mention of the drink. “No,” I shake my head.
“You need to drink something, doll.” Prescott turns me to face him, his fingers tipping my chin back. My eyes meet his worried ones. “We can’t risk you getting dehydrated.”
“Water,” I croak, giving in. “I can’t drink anything that smells or tastes funny.”
I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to stomach that, but I could at least try. What’s the worst that can happen? I end up throwing up again? It wouldn’t be the first or the last time.
His brows pull together, but he lets out a sigh. “Fine. Water. Let’s get you to bed now.”
I force out a smirk. “You’re way too eager to get me to bed, Wentworth. I’m really not a good lay right now.”
“Seriously?” Nixon groans.
