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Every penance I need to pay.
“Bed.” Lauren tips her head towards the piece of furniture. “Hamilton should be back from lunch to check your vitals shortly.”
Just the thought of food conjures a deep groan of disgust.
“Still no appetite?”
Shaking my head precedes putting the small towel down and sliding back onto the mattress.
“I’ll inform Lucky to maintain the smaller portions.” Her fingers wind around the end of the blanket to pull it up. “How do eggs sound for lunch?”
“Like a punishment.”
“Perfect!”
The sassy retort doesn’t fail to make me smirk.
It’s no mystery where Bryn’s sass stems from.
Although, having Lauren’s does remind me that I don’t have hers.
That I haven’t had hers.
That I don’t deserve to have hers for what I’ve put her through.
“How’s Bryn?” meekly leaves me as I reach for the washcloth a second time. “Our baby?”
“Alive,” she announces in such a way I know that’s the best answer I’m going to get, which is honestly more than I deserve.
Instinct to pry for more rears its ugly head, unfortunately for me, detoxing is uglier.
Ruder.
More relentless.
Puke abruptly propels itself upward forcing me to curl sideways in hopes of spewing into the nearby trashcan rather than my freshly changed sheets. One round easily becomes two that transitions to three and four and five, further purging any nutrients that had somehow managed to take hold in my system. Cramps from the endless stomach tensing cause guttural groans to grow in numbers yet the added vibrations amplify the pain ultimately prompting more grumbles to appear and continue an agony filled cycle.
I should’ve never picked up that first glass.
I should’ve never downed that first shot.
That first sip.
Heaving after a short period transforms into dry heaving, an action I hate more than vomiting itself.
When you actually throw up, there’s action.
Purpose.
An accomplishment.
When you dry heave, there’s all the suffering, but none of the relief.
None of the reprieve.
Again.
Not that I deserve any.
