11
CHEYENNE
“How bad is it?” Darren’s deep, concerned voice floats through the bathroom door as I push myself off my knees. My throat is burning, and my mouth tastes like a soap dispenser.
He’s been here overnight three nights in a row, showing up in the evening, making love to me, sleeping over, and then making me breakfast. It’s been wonderful, even if the place is too small for two; it’s the one place we don’t have to worry about intrusions. Neither Crystal nor her father would set foot in my neighborhood, the wusses.
But this morning, the idyll’s been completely shattered. My appetite has reversed itself, and I can’t make it stop.
“Cheyenne?” Darren calls again as I’m rinsing my mouth out. My tender midsection heaves again. I almost choke.
Dammit. “Bad,” I manage finally, my ches
