“How many times do I have to tell you that you can be in anything, in any way and I will still find you sexy?”
“Oh yeah? It turns you on when I throw up?”
“It’s just a reminder of how wide your mouth is.”
I snort out a laugh, and he does too. Wrapping his arm around my middle, he pulls me closer.
“The nausea is only supposed to last for twenty-four hours,” I say, more so to comfort myself.
“Then it should almost be done, right?”
I nod.
“I’ll make you breakfast, then.”
I try to sit up and put some distance between me and his intentions, but I’m too weak to actually do it. Whether I like it or not, I’m at his mercy.
I refuse to give in, so my back is stiff the entire time he holds me. I won’t even let him stroke my arm anymore, determining that he has done enough.
I can’t help but talk to him over the hours we sit there, happy for the distraction.
“You think it’s done?” He asks when enough time has passed without me hurling.
“Yeah, my stomach feels better.”
I go to stand, but he stops me, lifting me into his arms instead. Carrying me to the couch, he places me there then brings me another water.
“You can go now.” I take small sips of this one, scared to cause my stomach to act up.
“I’m cooking for you.”
“Why are you like this?” I twist in my seat so I can look at him.
“Why are you?” He crosses his arms, staring me down.
I refuse to break eye contact, and so does he, so we have an awkward moment of just looking at each other. When he realizes that I won’t give in, he turns and walks into the kitchen.
A few minutes later, I smell onions. It’s not too long before he is bringing me an omelette. Without my permission, my mouth waters.
He cuts a piece off of it like he is going to feed me, and I snatch the plate from his hands. This just makes him smirk. Picking up his own plate, he digs in.
My first few bites are tentative as I wait to see how my body will react. When there is no immediate churning, I determine it’s safe.
“Do you need help getting to the shower?”
I shake my head.
“Okay, then I’ll get some video games and snacks set up.”
“You’re staying?” I sit up, pulled by this revelation.
“Yes, until your dad gets home.”
I want to tell him to go away, but previous experience has taught me that he won’t listen. So instead, I finish eating.
Once done, I wobble to the bathroom, determined to wash off the gross feeling encompassing my entire body. Too tired to do anything but half-heartedly scrub, I stay under the scorching water longer than I normally would.
I can’t even imagine trying to lotion my entire body right now, so I just throw on some shorts and a tank top. If I were in a better mood, I would ask him and let it turn into something dirty, but all it would be right now is intimate.
