Neon Amber [BoyXBoy Romance]

9

Morning came entirely too fast. A sliver of the light blue dawning sky seeped between a crack in the blinds. Waking me fifteen minutes before the alarm had the chance to so. It felt like my brain had been put through a blender. I fell to my knees the second I rolled out of bed (literally). There were knots being tied inside of my stomach. My hand was pressed against my abdomen when a torrent of hot zesty vomit came plummeting from my mouth. It burned like someone poured gasoline down the lining of my throat and lit a match, setting fire to my insides. "Fuck!" I screamed in between chunks.

Twenty minutes later, my stomach was painfully empty. I felt exhausted, weak, and annoyed. To top it off, the alarm I set kept going off, only adding fuel to my headache. Vomit drenched my shirt and the carpet. I had no energy; the only thing I could do was lie in my own filth. I found a little more comfort shifting into the fetal position. So much so that I tuned out the alarm and let my eyes get heavy.

Moments after I shut my eyes, someone knocked lightly at the door. I mumbled come in assuming it was my dad. I didn't care about getting scolded for underage drinking. Whatever lecture—or lack thereof he would give me, I was ready to tune it out. But this visitor wasn't my dad—the sound of his footsteps dragging sluggishly against the carpet confirmed that. It was Seven. His forehead creased in concern and if I hadn't felt like I was on the brink of death, I would've smiled.

He kneeled down. "Fuck, I shouldn't have gotten you those drinks, kid."

I wanted to cry. I closed my eyes. "I smell. I'm dirty. And I can't stop throwing up. You can't see me like this."

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Here sit up." He kneeled into the pile of vomit to sit me up against the foot of my bed. "I got you something. It's just a croissant but you need food in your stomach."

I couldn't keep my eyes off of him. Why was he doing this? Surely I had lost my chances of ever dating him at this point. Why couldn't I have puked myself to death before he came here? He reached for the water bottle he gave me earlier and pressed it to my lips. "Drink up."

I enjoyed the cool feeling of the water hitting my empty stomach. "Thanks," I mumbled, unwrapping the croissant, "I appreciate it."

He looked down at his vomit soaked knees. "I would say anytime, but I can't say puke looks good on me." He smirked.

"It does," I complimented.

Complimenting him reminded me of all the stupid shit I said when my drunk was at its peak. I interrupted our awkward stare and focused on the orange pile of waste seeping into my carpet. "I should probably clean this up and get ready for school."

"You sure you can go to school? Are you feeling okay?" he asked, standing up.

I nodded. "Yeah, I shouldn't have drank on an empty stomach."

Seven had a backup pair of jeans in his car. He casually changed in front of me again. I looked away this time, feeling guilty for what I'd done hours before.

"You sure you're good to go to school, kid?" He questioned, following me out the front door.

"Yeah, I just have a light headache. It'll be gone once I get more food—"

Tyrique leaning against the driver door of Seven's car stopped me dead in my tracks. He was shirtless and in a pair of red basketball shorts, his rocky body glistening in sweat. In between his fingers was a burning blunt.

"Uh." Was all I could say.

I turned to Seven and gave him a look that screamed 'that's him.' I stepped off the porch and walked towards Tyrique. I looked him in his bloodshot eyes and asked, "Do you need something?"

"Nope." He shook his head.

"Okay? Well. . . we were kind of in a hurry." I said. "I'm already late for school."

He shook his head and took a hit from the blunt. "You not gon' introduce me to your new nigga?"

Fuck. "Uh, he's just my friend." Seven seemed unbothered. He stood behind me with a blank expression focused on Tyrique. "What are you even doing here this early? Didn't you move in with Crystal?"

Tyrique snorted. "Oh yeah, that stripper nigga." He ignored my question and tilted his head in Seven's direction. "You hit it bro? Tight as fuck, right? He let you nut in him too?" He flicked ash from the blunt onto Seven's window.

Before I could retort Seven skidded in front of me. He stood face to face with Tyrique, his jaw clenched and fists balled. "I think you should go home, boy."

Tyrique exhaled, the smoke hitting Seven in his face.

They were both giants. Tyrique was just a tad bit taller than Seven. The height difference didn't scare him; Seven stood there with his chest out, waiting for Tyrique to make a move. "You blow smoke in my face again, bro—it's going to be a problem."

Whatever Tyrique saw in Seven's eyes made him retreat. He shot me one scornful glare, and walked down the driveway.

"I'm so sorry," I apologized, wiping the ash from Seven's window.

The fact that Seven didn't respond made me feel worse. He walked over to the passenger door, opened it, and gestured for me to hop in. Seven turned the radio on full blast, making it impossible to further apologize. The entire way to school, his jaw was clenched and his grip was tight against the steering wheel, his eyebrows almost colliding. He was pissed and he had every reason to be.

He finally turned the music down when we slid into the student drop off area.

"Thank you. For everything." I pulled the latch on the door. "And I'm sorry about Tyrique."

His jaws were still clenched when he looked at me. "I'm not angry at you."

I shrugged. "It's okay if you are. I got throw up on your jeans. Tyrique totally disrespected your car. And yeah."

He shook his head. "It's not your fault, Travis. I'm more upset at myself. The old me almost came out."

"The old you?"

"We'll talk about it later. I'll see you soon, Kid. Enjoy your week."

Week? I definitely lost him.