You and I against the World

drawing of me

“Wake up Connlin,” I hear a voice ringing in my head, “I made you a picture.”

            I groaned and rolled over, becoming aware that my back was sore and my head throbbed and ached like never before. I pushed my face back into the pillow and tried to hold back the urge to tear up. Why was I in so much pain?

            “What happened Eli?” I mutter, my hoarse voice barely coming out as a croak. My throat was so dry.

            “You drank a little too much…,” he whispers, almost guiltily, as if it were his fault I got myself drunk. It hit me, remembering getting drunk with Thomas after returning to the beach. What I don’t remember though is passing out and being put into a big comfy bed.

            “Where am I?” I mutter, starting to sit up, but realizing my head didn’t exactly want that right now.

            “My house,” he murmurs, “brought you back after you passed out. You’ve been throwing up all night,” he says, almost like he expected me not to remember. He was right though, things were still fuzzy. But hearing what I had gone through the previous night made body react weird, and it hit me like ten bullets. I subconsciously remembered where the bathroom was, running there and vomiting violently. The smell was rotten and the taste was even worse.

            Throwing up has always been hell for me. I always managed to get the flu every year though, despite the flu shots my mother always makes me get. If it’s never going to work, why get something sharp and pointy jabbed into my arm?

            “Can I come in Connlin?” Eli asks.

            I couldn’t help but throw up a few more times, collapsing on the floor and grabbing nearby towel to wipe my mouth. Being hungover was never going to be worth getting drunk. I’m never drinking again. Ever.

            “Can I have some water?” I gasp, trying to regain my breath from the flips my stomach was doing.

            “Sure,” and then he was gone. Thirty seconds later he was in the bathroom, kneeling down next to me and handing me the glass. It wasn’t the rush of cold water running down my parched throat that felt so amazing, it was his hands. He brushed the hair away from my sweaty forehead and stroking my face, running his fingers through my hair continuously. I sighed and pulled the drink away, closing my eyes and falling into his touch. It was so soothing…

            “Wait,” he warns. He takes the glass before I can drink more and scoots over next to me, letting my head rest on his shoulder before holding the glass up to my lips. I take a sip, but then it’s gone again before I can get too much. “You have to drink it slowly,” he says.

            “Why?” I question, but he’s already holding the glass up again, and I take it thankfully. I was grateful for what he was doing, and that’s a surprise because I hate it when people see me in this kind of condition. I got another sip after a few seconds.

            “If you drink too fast you’ll just throw it up again,” he says, rubbing my shoulder.

            But what he was saying wasn’t registering in my mind. All I could think about was drinking more water, and when I tried he yanked it away and set it on the edge of the bathtub.

            “Don’t fight with me Connlin, I know more than you at the moment,” he scolds, making sure the glass was too far for me to reach. I felt extremely ashamed he had to see me like this, seeing as we only had just met the night before. This was just too overwhelming for me, I couldn’t think straight, and everything just hurt so badly. I started to cry. I turned into his chest and gave up hope of pride, sobbing myself into oblivion mercifully within the next few minutes.