“Are you okay?” I ask, but before I can even finish the question, she jumps up and takes off at a run. “Jules?”
Yoko follows her first, barking from the bathroom, and I get up on shaky feet to follow her. My stomach suddenly feels a little queasy too, and then, in an instant, it lurches entirely.
Oh no.
Running and untying Julia’s apron from my body at the same time, I bolt across the hall, through my apartment and into the bathroom, where I slam down to my knees in front of the toilet and violently throw up the last several bites of food I’ve just swallowed.
My stomach pitches and then falls, and I vomit again as realization sets in.
Oh hell.
Instead of declaring my love, I declared war…on our intestines.
What the hell did I do wrong?
Wednesday, Sept 3rd
Julia
I groan and roll over in my bed, reaching weakly toward the bottle of water Ace left for me on my nightstand in the middle of the night last night. He’s been in several times to check on me, often with a puke bowl below his own mouth as he dry heaves.
After much frantic discussion between vom sessions about what he could have done to our dinner that made us this violently sick this quickly, we made a four a.m. discovery that he used the one brand of spaghetti sauce that sneaks in peppers—something we’re both allergic to. Our shared food-sensitivity was uncovered at a family barbecue when we were in kindergarten. My mom had made stuffed peppers, and both Ace and I ended up in the ER together with full-body hives.
Truth be told, hives would’ve been a better outcome in our current situation, and out of pure survival, I declared that I’d be the only one cooking our meals from here on out.
He agreed, as best as he could through a groan, and we’ve both been fighting for our lives ever since.
I crawl across my comforter to get the bottle since it’s not magically coming to me, sipping lightly from the rounded top. My mouth feels both brittle and sore, and I find myself wishing I had some ibuprofen to go with the liquid.
The door to my bedroom bangs open, revealing Ace shirtless and wrapped in a throw blanket and walking like a zombie. He stretches one hand out in front of him. “Here. Take these.”
By the red color of the three little pills, I know it’s ibuprofen. And I think in my mind about telling him how I was wishing for this exact thing, but nothing audible comes out. I’m too weak and dehydrated.
“What about kids?” he asks through a raspy, fatigued voice. “Do you want to have kids?”
“What?” I question, the ends of the word wrapped up in a remarkable moan.
“I was just…wondering…”
“Well, wonder some other time,” I cry.
“I’m sorry I poisoned us, Lia. Really. I’m so, so sorry. I thought if anything would get us, it would be the chicken. I never thought it’d be the sauce—”
“I know you are, Ace. Just…shut up.” I groan and shut my eyes. “Please. My ears hurt.”
“Here,” Ace whispers, his voice noticeably softening. “Take these.”
I finally take the pills from his hand and shove them one by one into my mouth. And he helps tip my bottle of water up to my lips to take a drink and swallow them down. He brushes my hair out of my face with a gentle thumb and then jumps to standing. “Be right back,” he yells, running, once again, for his own bathroom.
“Ughhh,” I grumble.
My cheek vibrates, and I move my head slightly to see that I’m lying directly on my phone. I pull it out from under my face and hold it up, willing my eyes to focus on the screen.
Drew: Everything okay? Just got out of Calc and was surprised you weren’t there.
I can barely type the words, but somehow, I manage.
Me: Sorry yeah. Got food poisoning and trying to survive
