‘Please. Thanks. I should’ve listened to you when you said not to mix my drinks. I can’t believe I drank champagne then red wine, white wine, then more wine, then all those rum and Cokes and…’ Just thinking about all the alcohol I’d consumed made the bile rise in my throat again. ‘I’m going to…’ I jumped up, raced into the bathroom and dropped in front of the toilet.
My braids tumbled past my shoulders. The hairband I had in earlier during my first round of puking must’ve fallen out. And because I didn’t put myself to bed, I hadn’t wrapped it in a silk scarf like I normally would.
Great.
Now I was going to get sick over my braids too.
Gross.
Just as I was attempting to push my hair out of the way whilst trying to focus on not throwing up in front of Gabriel, I heard his footsteps in the bathroom.
‘Gabriel!’ My eyes popped with horror. ‘You need to leave, I’m going to be sick, I can’t…’
I tried my hardest but I couldn’t hold it back.
I couldn’t believe I was throwing up in front of him.
But just as I expected him to run out of the room in disgust, he knelt down behind me. Then I felt his hands on my braids as he gently pulled them back and away from my face.
Wait, what?
Then I felt him rub my back.
I wanted to thank him but I couldn’t speak.
When the wave of nausea stopped, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to catch my breath so I could talk.
‘Thank you, but you really should go. It’s disgusting and it smells.’
‘I do not care,’ Gabriel said, still rubbing small circles on my back. ‘I am not leaving you. Come on. Let it all out. You will feel better once you get it out of your system.’
I attempted to hold back, but seconds later another wave of nausea hit me. Then another. And all the time I was literally spilling my guts, I didn’t feel Gabriel flinch or pull away. He just held my hair and his soothing strokes told me that he meant what he said – he wasn’t going anywhere.
That was so unbelievably kind and… unexpected.
Whenever I was sick, no one ever helped me. Not Ricky, my own flesh and blood, and definitely none of my exes.
Once, when I had food poisoning and was doubled over on the toilet, one of my exes asked what time I planned to cook dinner because he was hungry and wanted to eat before he went to the pub to meet his friends.
Yet Gabriel was sitting on the bathroom floor with me, holding my hair back and insisting that he wasn’t leaving, despite how gross the toilet bowl looked and smelt.
Mind. Blown.
Eventually, when I was sure I’d finished, Gabriel gently lifted his hand from my back, then passed me a tissue.
I was mortified, but too weak to do anything other than accept.
After I’d wiped my mouth and flushed the toilet, Gabriel helped lift me onto my feet.
I shuffled to the sink, where I washed my hands, before rinsing out my mouth then brushing my teeth. When I attempted to walk back to the bed, Gabriel stopped me.
‘Let me,’ he said before scooping me into his arms, carrying me over to the bed, then putting me down gently.
I looked up at him, my eyes wide, trying to take in everything he’d just done.
There wasn’t disgust, horror or judgement in his eyes, only care and concern.
This man.
