Catalyst (probably not going to update anymore, don't watch the show anymore)

Chapter 112

I rested my tried head on the white toilet seat in the master bathroom. I had been up since four in the morning throwing up stomach bile with tints of blood, and I hadn't felt worse in my entire life.

Everything hurt. My entire body ached.

I haven't eaten much of anything in a week, barely drinking water, and taking V-10 every night to go to sleep. If I don't shoot V-10, I don't sleep; and if I shoot too much V-10, I end up here, hunched over the toilet, vomiting for hours on end.

"Do you want me to get you some Zofran from Star Labs?" Barry asked softly as he knelt next to me, rubbing my back to try to make me feel better.

I heaved again, and more bile spewed from my stomach. My eyes were half-lidded from exhaustion, and I mumbled, "No, I need to lay down."

Barry peered into the toilet bowl, analyzing the bloody bile. "Finn," he pleaded, "You need to go to the hospital."

I breathed heavily, and whispered, "I can't, they'll know I'm a meta." Barry knew that was a lie. He knew I was taking V-10 again and when the doctors saw what was in my body, they would be shocked.

My head rested on the porcelain toilet seat again, and Barry flushed the toilet. He gently rubbed my back as I attempted to regain my bearings.

Why do I hate him? Because we can't have kids? Because I shut him out when I feel shitty? Because I blame everything on him? Because I assumed he was in love with Iris when I had my breakdown?

Why did I do that? That's not me. I wouldn't do that. Did I do that? Or did the V-10 make me do that?

"Do you want to lay down in the bed?" Barry whispered.

I meekly replied, "Yes."

Weakly, I lifted my dizzy head from the toilet, and kept my eyes closed. Barry helped me off the ground, lifting me up from my armpits, and I stood on my unstable feet. "You good?" he asked, holding my waist to make sure I wouldn't fall.

"I think so," I mumbled, and Barry began to guide me forward, out of the bathroom towards the bed. I was turned around, and sat down on the edge of the bed on Barry's side; his side was closest to the bathroom on the left.

Slowly, I lifted my legs onto the bed, ducking under the covers to soothe my freezing extremities. My head rested on the soft pillow, my hazy eyes stared at the dark ceiling, watching the fan spin around and around.

Lightning flashed in the room and I felt a prick in my left arm; an IV had been placed in my arm, and a dripline next to the headboard pumped electrolytes into my body. Barry gazed down at my arm as he held my hand, staring at the numerous trackmarks and scars from the needles.

He was disappointed in me.

"Please," Barry begged, unable to look me in the eye, "please stop."

________

Work has been difficult for me these past few days. Every single night, I have thrown up for hours, and it happens even when I don't shoot any V-10.

My body is trying to tell me to stop. It begs and screams for me to stop taking V-10 in the large quantities that I do, but . . . I can't.

If I stop taking it, mine and Barry's relationship is going to crumble again. Me being so sick is bringing us back together, and I can't bear to lose that again. I know that it sounds insane, but . . .