Page 131 of The Loathing

My chair is pulled out by Arlo and I thank him. I’m not waiting long until my dinner is served up. Rare steak, new potatoes and steamed vegetables. This was the first proper meal I had managed to actually eat because I haven’t had much of an appetite over the last few weeks.

“Sit with me,” I turn to face Titus, and he gives me a nod, pulling the chair out next to me.

His hand glides under the table and rests on my bare thigh, my insides swarming with butterflies at his touch, and it’s made me realise how much I have missed it.

“Imagine we are sitting at the boat lake back home, our feet over hanging the dock with nothing but the calmness of the lake in front of us,” I close my eyes for a moment in inhale deeply. “Imagine I am holding your hand, bringing it to my lips and caressing the back of it with soft, feather like kisses.” I smile, my heart warming and glowing in my chest.

“That feels like a distant memory, sitting at the lake with you, our first kiss in the pouring down rain,” I exhale a shaky breath and turn to face him, “that was my favourite kiss of all.”

“You have nothing to compare it to.”

“I have all your other kisses,” I nudge him with my elbow and his mouth drops open. Letting my hand drop under the table, I grasp his fingers for just a moment before reaching for my knife and fork and cutting into my steak. My eyes widen, the smell of the fat from the meat wafting through my nose and my stomach rolls with nausea.

“I can’t eat this,” I drop the cutlery on the plate, covering my hands with my mouth and heave. Titus pulls the plate away and I stand quickly, rushing for the toilet that is located out by the entrance lobby.

I hover over the sink, bent over as I close my eyes and inhale through my nose and splash my face with cool water.

I hear a gentle knock on the door before it opens.

“Twilight,” Titus looks at me in the reflection of the mirror.

“Don’t look at me,” I cover my face, the water droplets running down my wrists when my hands are pulled from my face.

“I always look at you, sickness or not,” his voice is low, and my arms drop by my side.

“I’ve felt rough for the past week,” I admit, slowly sitting on the toilet and closing my eyes to try and relieve myself of this sicky feeling that is growing by the second.

Titus’ hand rests on my forehead.

“You don’t feel warm, come on, let me get you to your room,” but before I can answer and tell him I want to stay here, I stand abruptly, lift the toilet seat and sick up whatever is in my stomach. “It’s okay,” Titus whispers, his large hand rubbing the centre of my back, the other holding my hair away from my face.

This was not okay.

I was sick.

And the man that I loved with every fibre of my being was rubbing my back whilst I was throwing up.

Ground. Hole. Swallow.

* * *

Laying in my bed, I become teary and suddenly I just want my mother. Titus rubs one of them away with his thumb pad.

“What’s wrong, talk to me… I can help.”

“I want my mum,” I wail, turning to look at him. I’m pathetic but I feel sorry for myself.

“Okay baby,” he says softly, reaching into his suit trousers and slipping out his phone and suddenly, fear hits me like a fully loaded truck.

“What’s the date?” I whisper, my heart racing and my mind frantic.

He looks at me confused and twists his wrist towards him and looks down at the clock face on his phone.

“The fourth,” his face lifts to look at me and my eyes widen, my face paling.

“Fuck.”

“What, why did you want to know the date?” I hear the panic in his voice, but I can’t seem to get my words out. Every time I try, I stutter over them.

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