Page 99 of Until I Find You

Her voice drifts into the background, replaced by my own inner monologue.

Don’t throw up, you’re fine. You’re just tired. You’ve been working too hard. It will pass. Don’t fucking throw up.

That would be so embarrassing, not only as Jack’s business partner, but as his girlfriend.

What kind of impression does that make on a family, a projectile vomit into the middle of the table? It’s too soon for that. That will be one of their only memories of me for a while, the way they’ll describe me to others.

Yeah, Jack’s new girlfriend? She’s a puker.

Dammit.

“Camilla?”

Jack’s voice cuts through the fray of my brain.

I lift my eyes and hold my breath.

The concern is evident on his face, brows strained, lips pursed. “You okay?”

That does it. All my attempts at keeping my nausea quelled are lost.

I shoot up out of my chair. “I have to–”

I can’t even talk or that projectile vomiting nightmare will become a reality. Except everyone is staring at me like I’m a crazy person. I force out a, “Just a minute,” and run to the bathroom.

The next thing I know, I’m leaping into one of the bathroom stalls and narrowly making it to the toilet to puke.

Damn, it burns.

I place my elbows on the toilet, my hands on my forehead and wait for anything more to come up.

The embarrassment lands on my cheeks. Burns, hot and sweaty.

I puke again.

Jack’s voice again. “Camilla?”

I don’t say anything. He’ll find me.

His footsteps are slow and measured until he’s at the entrance of my stall. “Oh my god, baby girl, are you okay?”

“No,” I choke.

Obviously.

My stomach punches up again, and my body jerks.

“Okay, okay, that’s okay,” he says.

His fingers thread through my hair, pulling all the curls up and away from my mouth. It’s a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. “Let it out, it’s okay.”

It’s not okay. It’s been years since I’ve puked. I’ve counted. At least since college. And that was alcohol induced. I haven’t been sick like this,randomly,in years.

I get sick again, though not much comes up.

What could possibly be left in my stomach to even come up?

“Good girl, that’s it.” He rubs my back.

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