Somehow I’m able to hold everything together for another hour, though I don’t actually get any work done. Instead, I focus on the blinking mouse cursor over a blank page and try to keep my lunch from resurfacing.
I’m definitely going to be sick. But if I can hold it off.
If I can keep things together until the end of the day.
It’s too much to ask.
One hour and fifteen minutes is all I make before I rush to the bathroom and my stomach turns inside out. After, as I’m washing out my mouth in the sink, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I’m pale, looking a bit green around the edges. My eyes are red and wet.
I want to go home.
But I’m not even sure where that is anymore. It’s not back at Garnar’s.
Still, I know I can’t stay here. Pushing out of the bathroom, I head into Kimberly’s o
