𝓣𝓻𝓾𝓵𝔂 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼

❁ Chapter Twenty Four - Symptoms

Bile rose up my throat before I even managed to yawn out of my sleep. I speeded out of my bed and headed straight to the bathroom. I didn't even bother raise the seat, I kneeled and threw up everything I ate yesterday. Everything, as in some ice cream, chocolate, unhealthy snacks and huh... that was it. I didn't eat something... other than bullshit since Jer left, which was a few days ago.

I flushed the green substance as soon as I thought I was done, leaning my head on the toile seat for a few moments. The past week all I did was throw up in the morning. Though, I didn't feel sick, I just threw up a lot in the morning. I took as an explanation the fact that I ate nothing but... not healthy stuff... these days.

I attempted to stand up, but I didn't even get up to one foot, that the puke pushed through my lips and I had to kneel back down. My brows arched as I stared at the puke. Man, I hated throwing up! It was so... gross...

I shuddered at the mere thought, before I spat whatever was left in my mouth. Of course, other than the taste. A few minutes later, after gushing the rest of my stomach, I stood up and began brushing my teeth like there was no tomorrow. Once the taste had finally died down, I made my way out of the bedroom and went downstairs.

A loud yawn escaped my lips as I stepped foot into the kitchen, where Jerome began preparing something to eat. He turned at me from the stove and smirked.

"Morning, sissy!"

I rolled my eyes at him, actually wondering how the hell he had such a good mood. I just woke up and I felt like strangling him. He ignored the fact that I was being a bitch by not returning his joy and placed another pancake on one plate. Once he had a pretty mountain, he poured some syrup, added a tiny cube of butter on top and some blueberries.

I couldn't understand how in the hell, but Jerome was the only one from the family who could actually cook. I didn't even trust myself with a pan. That much I sucked at cooking. I just... had them in the kitchen for show.

"You look like shit," he commented, placing the plate in front of me with a fork.

"Thanks," I mumbled nonchalantly. I wasn't sure if I thanked him for his "compliment" or the fact that bothered to cook for me. It wasn't like I cared either. He should've been happy I bothered to be polite and grateful.

With my right hand I began rubbing my temple to ease the pain that had sunk in after vomiting, and with the other, I picked up the fork. The moment I took a bite of Jerome's pancakes I almost moaned. It was so delicious! It was like a little piece of heaven that certainly made me want more!

"What did you eat these days?" He questioned, planting both heels of his palms into the counter to take an intimidating position that had no effect on me.

I shrugged, continuing to eat. "Food," I pointed at the pancakes with my fork. "These taste awful. Do you need studies to bake some pancakes?"

He was my brother, after all. I couldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me enjoy something he made. Especially his food.

"Y'know you love them, Pip, stop lying to yourself," he winked mischievously, letting go of the counter. "So what did you eat these days?"

What hopes did I have of actually managing to change the subject?

"I said food," I retorted coolly.

"What kind of food?"

"Food, Jerome! Stuff from the fucking fridge! Why do you keep asking me if I clearly don't want to answer?" I shouted, having enough of his questions.

"Gee, lower the tone, it's not like I killed Grandma," he gave me his sarcastic tone while rolling his eyes.

I glared at him and returned to my pancakes.