Xander
My door slams shut behind me, and it’s far from enough. I want to lock it, bar it, drag furniture in front of it, but before I can do any of that, my stomach lunges up my throat.
The washroom. Feet pound, heart pounds, mark screams. I land on my knees in front of the toilet and lose the kafi, along with everything else I’ve eaten since the last time I found myself like this.
When I’m empty, alone with the stink, my nausea doesn’t fade. I wish this were as simple as a cold, but whatever is making me sick is buried deep in my bones, lodged under my skin. It throbs in the shape of a sun on my collarbone, crawling up my neck. In my mind’s eye, over and over again, I reach past Finn’s hands and loosen the tie on my breast binding.
Foolish. Ridiculous. What was I hoping would happen?
