As I sip the coffee, my hands shake uncontrollably. What the hell? I just need something stronger, anything, to settle my nerves.
“I need a drink, Luca.”
Luca switches his attention to me from his phone and frowns. The black cabinets and white walls start to swirl. I need some air.
Nausea washes over me as I put the coffee down. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve had anything. Last night? I struck out at my dad’s house.
Shit, I don’t feel well at all.
I stand and stumble forward, catching myself on the coffee table. Swallowing past the excessive saliva now in my mouth, realization hits. God, I’m going to be sick.
I’m too scared to move. Everything is wavy. Am I dying?
“L-Luca? I don’t feel well.”
Before he can reply, my body shudders as my stomach feels like it’s twisting on itself. I bend over and try to hold back the gagging that takes over my throat. I lose to my body and projectile vomit all over his marble floor. That doesn’t lessen the cold sweats washing over me.
“Drink, Luca. I need a drink, or a bump? Please?”
I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth, the tremble in my hands only worsening. Rubbing my hands over my face, I dart towards the sink in the kitchen as another wave comes over me, my head feeling like someone is hammering from within my skull.
I throw up, over and over again, until I am gasping for air.
I grip onto the counter to keep the room from spinning. “Drink… Luca.” I can barely speak.
“Here.” He puts a glass into my hands and helps me take a sip. As the flavorless liquid enters my mouth, I shake my head.
“No, I need something stronger. You don’t understand.”
“Rosa, you need to ride this out.” His tone is soft, but firm. He takes my hand and leads me into a bathroom covered in white marble.
“I can’t.” I’m not strong enough to do this. My whole body aches. I start to cry as the bile rises again, my insides burning.
“P-please, help me.” My legs give out and I collapse onto the cool floor. The porcelain toilet is almost inviting.
“I promise I won’t leave your side.”
That isn’t what I mean, but the second his hand strokes my back, the comfort is there, despite feeling like I am dying.
I throw up until I am dry heaving. My stomach still cramps in its efforts to expel the tiny sips of water that Luca keeps feeding me. All I can think about is finding a way to get out of this. Just one more drink and I’ll be okay.
Weak and shaking, my body finally gives up from exhaustion. My limbs are heavy and sweat beads on my forehead. Luca is just a fuzzy shape in the periphery of my vision.
“Rosa? Rosa?” His voice is laced with panic, matching my own frenzy of emotions.
I try to open my eyes, but it’s no use. I’m just so tired.
