Are You Okay? // Colby Brock

Sicker Than A Bowl Of Oatmeal

A few hours later, Colby finds himself awoken by a knock on the door. The sound jerks him into action where he frantically wipes his face, fixes his hair and generally tries to make himself look better. He grabs his phone, sinks into his bed and grumbles, "Come in."

Sam opens the door, laptop in hand. "Hey, dude. I'm in the middle of editing our next Sam and Colby video and the program is like, glitching out. Could you-" Sam looks up at Colby and wrinkles his nose, concerned. "Whoa, dude, you okay?"

Colby tries to put on a confused expression. "Yeah, man. Why wouldn't I be?" Colby mentally face palms at the sound of his scratchy voice.

Sam looks at him. "Uh huh. No offense dude but... you look and sound like shit. You sure you're not sick?"

"No!" Colby exclaims too loud and too quickly. He tries to backtrack. "I mean... no, dude, I'm good. Seriously. I just had a rough night last night, y'know? I'm fine, though. Just tired."

Sam nods, suspicious. He knows Colby, and he also knows how adamant Colby becomes when he's sick. He tries to deny it and play it off as a bad night sleep, however, Sam can see right through it. 

He makes sure to keep the info in the back of his head as Sam relents. "You know what? I think Elton's here, somewhere. Imma just ask him for help, bro. You should try getting some sleep, y'know?"

Colby swallows harshly and nods, curling into himself. "Yeah, dude. Sure."

With one last uneasy smile, Sam slips out of Colby's room and closes the door, leaving Colby reeling from the experience. Sweating and panting, Colby's reminded of his pounding headache when it comes rushing back to him. Crap.

Pushing himself up, he suddenly feels this hurricane in his stomach, the fluids squishing around. And, even worse, Colby suddenly feels bile rising in his throat. Panic seizes his chest and his eyes widen, body shaking and paralyzed in fear. When the realization dawns on him, Colby sprints to his bathroom and collapses in front of the toilet, just barely making it as he vomits up everything in his stomach.

He's sure the horrendous retching and sounds of him puking won't go unnoticed, as it's quite loud and conspicuous. It lasts a good half a minute and once it's over, Colby sluggishly wipes his mouth and collapses to the wall, face white, forehead sweaty and head pounding. He feels like complete and utter shit.

But he's not sick. No, he's not.

Laying there, legs sprawled out in front of him, chest heaving, stomach throbbing and body heavy, Colby realizes he can't move. His legs are too numb and weak to work, which leaves him laying in the bathroom, next to a toilet full of his stomach acids. Great.

Just great.

Meanwhile...

Sam closes Colbys bedroom with a sigh. He goes back into his bedroom and sets his computer down, no longer fixated on editing. Now he's worried about Colby and what his stubbornness will lead to on terms of his refusal to admit when he's sick.

Sam looks up and with a deep breath, he heads back over to Colby's bedroom, faltering when he gets to the door. He raises his hand in a fist, holding it half and inch away from the door. He hesitates, contemplating whether or not to go in and confront Colby. Usually when he tries to reason with Colby when he's sick, it doesn't work out well.

Sam's thoughts are disturbed when he hears retching, and the sound of someone vomiting. Quickly yet quietly, Sam opens the door and goes over to the bathroom, peeking his head around the corner to see Colby leaning over the toilet, puking. Sam's heart breaks seeing his friend in so much pain, seeing him in such agony as he's forced to vomit his throat raw in his toilet.