Christ, this woman… What is it about her?
19
CAMILE
I wake with a jolt.At first, for a few blissful moments, I only remember the dream and nothing else. It was fun. I’d been humping Jack’s thick thigh as he kissed me passionately. As more of the real world impinges on me, I realize I’ve got a pillow between my legs and my panties are soaked.
Oh, God, did I come in my sleep? Did I make noise?
Shit, what if Jack heard?
Wait, I’m in Jack’s house. Why?
Then it hits. With a sledgehammer of pain, my memories all slot back into place, and the dark void widens in me as sheer panic rushes to fill all my empty places.
Anxiety. Fear. Despair.
They all vie for supremacy, and my stomach lurches.
Oh, mierda.
Scrambling out of bed and getting caught in the covers, I fall onto the floor with a curse. The blankets arestill wrapped around my legs, and I kick them off, desperate to get to the bathroom.
My stomach lurches again, and I push to my feet. I pause only long enough to snatch up my top to pull it over my head—aware I’m still in Jack’s house—and race to the bathroom.
Just in time, I hit the floor on my knees, the toilet seat flipped up, as I throw up what tiny amount I had left in my stomach. The vomiting is violent and painful, and I start to cry as I gag.
Something wet and cool touches the back of my neck, and I’m dimly aware of someone else in the room with me. Is Jack here?
God, the idea of him seeing me like this makes me want to curl up into a ball and die.
“You’re okay, Camile. It’s okay. Let it out.”
That’s not Jack. I can’t look around, though, because I’m going to be sick again.
I’m not sure how long it lasts. Only that once it’s finished, I’m wrung out and exhausted.
The person who had a wet towel on my nape stands and does something at the sink. I fall back against the wall to sit on my ass, my hands covering my face. Then the person is in front of me, pushing the strands of sweat-damp hair from my forehead and wiping my face with the cool cloth.
It’s Ghost.
Oh, Lord, how embarrassing it is to be seen this way in front of him. I bet I stink, and he’s gotten a good view of my panties and ass while he’s been in here. I wish I’d picked up my jeans, too. He doesn’t seem to care about that. Instead, he continues to clean my face with the cloth before he stands and goes to a medicine cabinet.After rummaging around in it, he grabs a travel toothbrush still in its wrapper.
“I needed one of these,” he says to himself.
I’m not sure what he means, but then he hands it to me.
“Here you go. You can brush your teeth, if you feel up to it. It’ll make you feel better.”
I’m grateful for the chance, as my mouth tastes awful. I stand and almost fall again, but a strong arm is around my waist, and I’m guided to the sink. Once there, I brush my teeth as Ghost flushes the toilet.
I run the faucet and wash my hands and face, and the cool water feels heavenly on my overheated skin.
Once I’m done, I take the soft towel Ghost offers me and wipe my face and throat dry.
“Do you feel better?” he asks.
Better is a subjective word. I don’t feel sick anymore, but I’m still devastated and beyond terrified.
