Page 46 of Sexy as Sin
More noise from in there. Abangof porcelain on porcelain, and the unmistakable sound of full-on retching. It went on and on, with some faint whimpers in between spasms, and he was wincing, then knocking on the door when the noise finally ended.
“Willow?”
A pathetic moan like an injured animal, the toilet flushing, and nothing else. He knocked again. “Willow. Are you all right?”
She said something, or maybe she just made some noise, but he couldn’t tell what it meant, and after another minute, he pushed down on the handle.
Yep. That was misery.
Now she knew why she hadn’t wanted any cake. She’d never want cake again, because she was dying.
At least she wasn’t heaving her guts out all the way to her socks anymore. If she’d been wearing socks. She was drooling like a St. Bernard into the toilet bowl instead. And Brett was standing over her asking, “Willow? How bad is it?”
She was going to have to die, because she didn’t want to live with this memory.
The pain had started soon after he’d dropped off to sleep, when she’d still been debating whether to leave or not. Or, rather, when she’d been reminding herself why she needed to leave. First, because she had to be up at six to shop and cook for today’s wedding. Second, because she needed to get her equilibrium back after a night of sex that had been so much more than she’d expected. And third, because the man was now leaving intwoweeks, and her heart and body had both gone over to the Brett Side. Which was something like the Dark Side, except more dangerous.
None of that had mattered, though, when the pain had started. Low in her belly, cramping hard, like her intestines were seizing up. It came on like a freight train, and she’d barely made it to the toilet—she wasnotspewing her guts out in Brett’s pristine bathroom with its palatial marble shower stall, and him ten meters away—before she’d lost her dinner in an explosion so cataclysmic, it had probably registered on the Richter scale. After that had come ten minutes of drooling, some more retching, and some more gut cramping and further digestive indignities to put the cherry on top.
Once everything had subsided, she’d wrenched the shutter-style windows open to the night air with the last of her strength, then lain down, curled on her side on a thin cotton bath rug in Brett’s white shirt, which he was going to have to burn, and thought,Five minutes, and I’ll go. Somehow.Right now, she couldn’t even have crawled into the other room, let alone driven anywhere. Her arms and legs were trembling, and she was so cold.
Five minutes had become ten, and there was the freight train back again, blasting its way through the formerly peaceful countryside and laying waste to everything in sight. After that bout, and the dog-drooling, she hadn’t even made it to the bath rug. She’d knocked the toilet seat down with a shaking hand, laid her cheek against the cool porcelain, shivered, moaned, and prepared to die. Or for the third bout, whichever came first.
What came first was the third bout, and then Brett. Now, she was definitely going to have to die. It was good he was leaving after all, since he was never going to want to have sex with her again.Shedidn’t even want to have sex with her again. She was repulsive.
“Willow,” he said. He was naked. She could see that out of the corner of one eye. She closed it again. “Are you all right? No, of course you’re not all right. How bad is it?”
“Bad.” One word. She managed that, then closed her mouth. Talking was making her sick. “Go away.” Three words, and she was slamming the lid up again and heaving up... nothing, because there was nothing left.
He went away, and she thought dimly,Good,flushed the toilet, and laid her head down on the lid again. She’d just kneel here and die quietly.
He came back and set something down in front of her face. She heard the sound of it, opened her eye again, and saw it. Glass of water.No.His hand, then. Nice hand. Big. Holding a pink tablet. “Anti-nausea medicine.” His voice bounced against the hard surfaces of the room and spun around, or maybe that was her head. “Take it.”
Wait. How had he carried that? She turned her head a little more, instantly regretted it, and saw that he was on one crutch. Bad idea. He could fall. So could she. Right onto the floor. She closed her eyes again.
“Take it,” he said. Bloody bossy. Like he’d sounded before, when he’d wanted this horrible body.
“Can’t.”
“Do it anyway.”
She tried. But the minute the water hit the back of her throat, she was losing it again, and the tablet with it. And now, the chills started in earnest, racking her from head to foot. She did lie down then, because she couldn’t even kneel anymore. Not on the bath mat. She couldn’t get there. On the floor. It was cold.
He said something very dirty. She hadn’t guessed he’d ever say those words. But then, she hadn’t guessed he’d say heaps of things. Not nearly as much of a gentleman as she’d imagined. She could hear his voice, but it wasn’t close. It was urgent, though. Reminded her of something. Of when he’d been lying at the base of that rock. She’d been the one saying the words then, though, hadn’t she?
She wished he’d hold her hand. He couldn’t, though. He had a broken leg.
Something fell on her, but it was soft. Felt good. Blanket. She clutched a corner and felt a tiny bit warmer, though she was still shaking.
And then she heard the siren.
“No,” she said. “No. I can’t. I have a... wedding. Let me... lie here.”
“Nope. And too bad,” he said, with some more of that command. This time, she wasn’t loving it. “You’re going to the hospital anyway. This isn’t normal. This is wrong.”
“Bug,” she said. “You’re going to... get it.”
“I can’t hear you,” he said. “That’s because the ambulance is here.” The wail was louder outside. “I’m going to get the door.” At least he was wearing trousers now. She could see that when she opened one eye.
