Cheryl’s face contracted like she’d just seen a ghost. She let go of her breasts and leaned forward, her head on her knees. “Nooooooooo.”
“Shit. I’m so sorry, I think you’re fucking gorgeous, you’re the hottest girl in the world, you’re—”
“No, it’s not. I’m not… I’m gonna…”
From her thick voice, he knew exactly what she was gonna. His sex-drive switched off like a blown fuse and he picked her up and ran her to the bathroom. She started gagging as he lowered her to the toilet and she collapsed around the bowl, puke splashing like a tropical thunderstorm. He pulled her hair from her face, but it was too late, the front parts were slippery. He piled it into a ponytail, laughing at the absurdity of what was happening.
“Noooooo,” Cheryl wailed, her voice echoing in the bowl. “I’m disgusting. I’m soooo disgusting!”
“You’re not, KitKat. It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”
“I’m hideous. Gooooooo awayyyyyyy!”
“I can’t. Who’ll hold your hair?”
Cheryl answered by puking some more. He kept her hair out of her face and used his free one to rub her shoulders. “This is good, honey. Get all the bad stuff out and you’ll feel better.”
“Patrick!” she wailed but she didn’t tell him to leave.
Cheryl puked again and again, her small body heaving, her skin blistering hot. He told her she was beautiful and lovely and sweet and nice as he flushed away the contents of what looked like half a sports bar. Eventually, she stopped, sitting back from the bowl. “Betterrrrrr… Done I think…”
“That’s good. Toothbrush?”
“Yuhhhh.”
He gave her her little pink toothbrush with some Colgate on the end. She brushed her teeth with her eyes closed, kneeling to spit into the toilet. He handed her mouthwash and looked around as she swilled. They were both spattered in puke. He couldn’t put her to bed with vomit in her hair. There was nothing for it, they’d have to have a shower.
“Cheryl,” he said. “How about I wash us? Quickly. Just to get us clean?”
She spat the mouthwash into the toilet. “Yes, pleaseeeee.”
He stripped off his shirt and pants, keeping his briefs on as he started the shower. When the water was warm, he stood over Cheryl. She was still mostly naked, sitting back on her heels like when they did yoga together. She looked beautiful. So fucking beautiful.
Be a doctor, Normal. Be a paramedic.
“Ready to wash?”
Cheryl nodded so he carried her into the stall and sat her on the floor. He detached the shower head and rinsed her hair.
“Mmmm,” Cheryl said. “Betterrrr.”
“Better,” Patrick agreed, his eyes on the ceiling.
Cheryl shifted to her side, thumbing at her underwear. “Offf… Off…”
You’re a doctor, he told himself. You’re a paramedic.
He yanked her underwear down, touching as little of her skin as possible. He tossed the g-string against the tiles and returned to Cheryl’s hair, rubbing it through with her coconut shampoo. The scent of it made his traitorous body react, so he held his breath as he rinsed her and slathered her hair in conditioner.
“So good,” Cheryl mumbled as he massaged her head. “So much better.”
She leaned back and he watched sudsy water run down her bare breasts like something in a porno.
Think about old people. Geography. Cricket. My parents having sex.
The last one did the trick. He rinsed the conditioner and, praying the shampoo had cleaned her body without him touching it, picked her up by her armpits. He stood her on the bathmat and wrapped her in her towel with his eyes closed. She still couldn’t walk so he carried her to her bedroom and lay her on her sheets. He pulled open drawers until he found her workout gear and picked the ugliest t-shirt and shorts he could find.
“Patrick,” she said in a throaty voice. “Do you hate me?”
