Page 53 of Antidote

“Ollie,” Hunter breathes, and my spine straightens. Why is he calling me that? “Are you okay?”

“This is what happens when you give drugs to someone who has been clean for months.” I laugh hoarsely at the irony of it all, fighting more nausea. “I thought you knew.”

“It’s—”

“If you’ll excuse me,” I manage to cut him off. “I’d rather be alone. You’ve done enough. Can you get the hell out?”

“Please,” he begs, though I don’t know what for.

“Get. The. Fuck. Out.” I’m throwing up again before I can even finish my sentence.

A warm hand touches my back, and he begins to rub circles over my bare skin while I dry heave. I try to focus on the feel of his rough fingertips—a hockey player’s hands.

I flush the toilet again, and Hunter is suddenly at the sink, soaking a rag. He hands it to me, and I wipe my mouth and face, avoiding eye contact. He kneels behind me and envelops me in his heat. His front is to my back, his face in the crook of my neck. He breathes me in. I smile despite myself as a deep sadness takes over me before I get a chance to enjoy his closeness.

“Is this what you wanted? To watch me fail?” I ask him, a defeated sigh following my words.

He shakes his head, his lips brushing against my skin and making it tingle. “No,” he croaks out, and you’d think he’s the nauseous one by the tone of his voice. “This is not what I wanted.”

“You need to leave,” I tell him, my voice barely above a whisper. “Please stop hurting me to make yourself feel better.”

Hunter bites my neck, making it sting, and I cry out. “You know I hate when you tell me what to do, Ollie. Just let me take care of you. Please? Then, as soon as you’re better, I’ll leave you alone. We can act like it never happened. We can go back to whatever the fuck we were doing before now…”

“You’re giving me whiplash,” I reply. “I just—” I breathe in slowly as I will myself not to throw up again. “I need you to stop coming after me…unless you’re going to stay. I need you to come to terms with the fact that you’re gay—on your fucking own—before you hurt me more.”

His sharp inhale is the only indication that he heard me, and he lets it out against my neck and then kisses it. “I know.” So he is capable of acknowledging when he’s fucked up, but he can’t admit to being gay. Great. “Just today. Give me today.”

I smile, but it’s forced. “You have a game in two hours.”

“I know.” How the hell is he going to make this happen? “I’ll go, and when I return, I’ll take care of you.”

“How?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

My stomach drops, and I hug the toilet again and throw up.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, then gets up and leaves.

A few minutes later, he’s back with an electrolyte drink and some saltine crackers and sets them on the floor beside me. He takes the rag and washes it, wringing the water out, and hands it back to me.

Hunter sits next to me, stares at me for what feels like forever, and doesn’t say one fucking word.

I know he has to go soon, so I turn my head and look at him. Really look at him. I see deep purple bags under his dull and bloodshot green eyes, and his brows are furrowed as he looks at me. He’s still beautiful. But right now, he seems just as sick as me.

“You should go now,” I tell him. I don’t want him to see me in this state. I don’t want him to know how my body still craves the drugs. “You’re gonna be late to warm-ups.”

“Okay.” He nods, smiling tightly. “Try not to throw up anymore?”

I laugh, though it holds no humor. “Sure.” Hunter pushes up from the ground and begins to walk away, but just before he can step out of the bathroom, I clear my throat. “Hey, Hunt?”

“Yeah?” he asks, his shoulders stiffening.

“Can you lock me in? Please?” I glimpse down at the toilet, not wanting to see the way his body deflates before my eyes. “I don’t trust myself right now.”

“Whatever you want.”

I nod, then turn my face and rest it on my arm as he closes the door behind me.

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