“I am starving!” Willow announces, taking the bag of food to the couch before she drops onto it and tucks her legs beneath her.
“Did you not eat?”
“No, I ate,” She confirms and starts pulling out everything, unwrapping one of the tacos before she takes a big bite. I swipe one of them and perch on the coffee table ahead of her.
But as she chews, her brows get lower and lower, a look of concern passing over her face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She swallows her mouthful thickly and then bringsthe food to her nose, smelling it.
“Oh god,” she hisses before she’s throwing the food down and sprinting to the bathroom.
I hear her vomiting a moment later.
“Shit,” I ditch my food and rush to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water before I go to the bathroom, finding her hunched over the toilet bowl as she heaves into it. I crouch behind her, pulling the hair that’s fallen around her face away.
“Fuck,” She heaves on a cry.
“Shh,” I rub her back, “It’s okay.”
She vomits again and stays over the toilet for a few more minutes before she falls back against me, knocking me off balance. I brace her fall and cradle her against me, her breathing heavy and pass her the bottle of water.
“Small sips,” I instruct.
She does as I say and takes baby sips from the bottle before she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Stomach bug?” I ask a few minutes later and put my hand to her cheek but she’s not feeling warm or feverish, just a little clammy from the sickness.
“Don’t know,” She breathes slowly, pressing her hand to her abdomen. “I don’t know what happened, I was fine.”
I help her to stand, and she grabs her toothbrush before she starts scrubbing, meeting my eyes in the mirror. I wait for her at the door, just in case, but it appears the sickness has passed.
“Do you want to try eating again?” I ask her.
Her head shakes violently, “No, the smell and taste are what set me off.”
“You love tacos,” I point out.
But she just shrugs, spits into the sink and shuts off the water.
Chapter Twenty-three
Ihaven’t felt right in days, but I can’t figure it out.
It comes in waves, where I’m fine one minute and then I’m triggered massively by a smell or a taste. It’s driving me up the wall.
My breath whooshes out of me as I exit the bathroom, finding Bast perched on the couch arm, watching me with concern.
“I’ll call Savvy, let her know we won’t make the show.”
“What!?” I gasp, “No!”
“You’re sick, Red,” He pauses with his cell.
“No, I’m not,” I shake my head, pressingmy hand to my abdomen, the nausea has passed now but it could come back, “I feel fine.”
“You’ve been vomiting for days,” Sebastian sighs, brows low, “Maybe you should see the doctor.”
