Page 6 of Legally Mine

"I'll be back," I choked out before sprinting out of the room and down to the hallway bathroom.

Dad didn't move an inch.

As soon as my knees hit the cold black and white tiles of the bathroom floor, the sweat started to build on my forehead. The nausea didn't fade until I had heaved for about a minute, losing the last remnants of the ginger cookies. I laid my cheek on the fuzzy pink seat cover on the toilet and sighed. The room smelled strongly of Lysol and the scented candle Bubbe kept on the top of the toilet bowl.

I took a deep breath. Then another. I wasn't going to vomit anymore, but the nausea wasn't subsiding completely. There was only one thing left to do, and I really didn't want to do it because I knew I'd still feel shitty, even if in a different way, by the end.

"Fuck it," I muttered to myself as the nausea rose again.

I closed my eyes and let my mind wander where it really wanted to go: back to that bright, warm room that smelled like almonds and sunshine, where a pair of strong arms held me tightly and blue eyes gazed into the depths of my crushed soul. Where my heart (and stomach) felt light again.

It was just for a minute, I told myself even as I fell deeper into my daydream. But that was the problem. It was never just a minute with Brandon Sterling, even in my dreams.

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