Bad Things

14. Forsaken

He started to stir, but didn't move off from her.

"Shawn, please," she said, breathing slow and deep through her nose to hold the nausea at bay.

"Hmm?" he hummed into her shirt, his voice still thick with sleep.

If Camila hadn't been about ready to puke, she'd have thought that was adorable too. "I need to get up," she repeated.

"Why? It's still early."

"Well, I could just blow chunks in your hair if you'd like?"Camila didn't think she'd ever seen anyone leap so fast, but she didn't have time to consider that. She jumped up and raced to the door, realizing in horror that she had no idea where to go. With her hand over her mouth, she croaked out, "Bathroom?"

"Across the hall," Shawn said, the sleep almost completely gone from his voice now.

Camila flung the door open, the knob bashing into the wall with a loud thunk, and raced across the hall to the nearest doorway. Once inside she slammed the door shut behind her and knelt beside the toilet. She curled her fingers around the cool seat and tried to support herself with her shaking arms. Her stomach squeezed and her throat clenched involuntarily as she tried to swallow. She gagged a few times, enough to illicit a thin layer of sweat across her forehead, but nothing came up. Letting out a slow, cleansing breath and closing her eyes, the nausea abated somewhat, leaving her stomach aching and tight.

She pressed her face to the back of the toilet. The porcelain tank felt cool against her cheek. God, she hated this. An unhappy rumble came from her stomach just as she heard a light knock at the door.

"Just a minute," she said, her voice coming out raspy. She cleared her throat. "I'm almost done."

"It's just me," came Shawn's voice through the door, "I brought you something."

Camila opened her eyes and leaned back against the tub. "Oh. You can come in."

The door opened a crack and Shawn stuck his head inside, finding her immediately. His hair was a riotous mess of rich brown, his eyes concerned. "You okay?"

She lifted her hand to gesture to the toilet. "False alarm. For now anyway."

"Oh. Good." Shawn looked down and bit his lip. "Well, I, uh, I got you these." He held out a sleeve of saltine crackers and a bottle of water. "You said they helped so ..."

Camila blinked, astounded, amazed, that this boy, this nineteen-year-old boy who shouldn't have to think about anything like this, would remember what she said helped when she felt sick. It took her a second to get a hold of herself, and then she gestured him forward. He stepped inside the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and walked over to her, handing her the crackers and bottled water. Camila tipped her head toward the floor, offering him a seat beside her. He hesitated.

"It's okay," she said. "I promise I won't puke on you."