Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I nod and mumble into his chest, amazed at how wonderful a comforting embrace can feel. “I think so.”
Luc releases me and I pull back to look up at him with a sheepish grin on my face.
“What are you doing here? I’m a lunatic and I didn’t shave my legs. Or brush my teeth,” I say with sudden memory and clap my hand over my mouth.
Luc just chucks me under the chin and says, “You’re cute.”
Then he brushes by me and takes the three steps to my tiny kitchen. He holds up the bag and shakes it. “I got breakfast.”
My stomach rumbles and now I suddenly feel jubilation so overwhelming I want to sing out loud like Julie Andrews on the top of an Austrian mountain. I just shake my internal head at myself and join him at my small table where he’s set the bag.
I lean over, peer inside, and take in two breakfast sandwiches wrapped in white paper soaked with grease. I inhale just on a normal breath, and take in the scent of egg, cheese, and…sausage?
My stomach rolls over and nausea hits me so hard I can feel something starting to rise up my throat without any provocation. I slap my hand over my mouth and lurch back into the living room. My head spinning, I walk quickly down the tiny hall that leads to the master bedroom. The nausea gets worse and I start to run, vaguely hearing Luc say, “What the fuck?”
I turn into my room, careen off the door jamb as my shoulder slams into it, and then right myself. I skid into the bathroom and drop to my knees at the toilet so hard I know there will be bruises there tomorrow.
Barely making it over the top, I open my mouth and vomit like I’m being exorcised. There goes my 3 A.M. snack of pretzels and ice cream as it hits the water with an echoing splash off the toilet bowl. After the first explosion is out, I take a deep breath, hear Luc’s footsteps in the bathroom, then heave again with so much force I think my stomach starts to come out. I also make the most horrific grunt-crying type of noise as I expel not as much, but enough it splashes again.
“Jesus, Stephy,” I hear Luc say, but he sounds like he’s in a box or something. Maybe I blew out my own eardrums with the violence of how I just vomited.
I heave again but nothing comes out.
A cold cloth is then placed against the back of my neck as I hug the toilet, and Luc rubs my lower back as I heave again. My ribs actually hurt and I choke on some residual but highly acidic bile and I wait for it to happen again.
But to my immense relief, the nausea disappears just as suddenly. In fact, I’m in the post-vomit orgasmic-like bliss that overtakes you where you feel like you could run a marathon because that’s how good you feel after throwing up.
I push back from the toilet, one hand coming to hold the cloth at the back of my neck before flopping over onto my butt with a terrible groan. My bathroom is small, but I can lean back against the vanity cabinet and stretch my legs out. Rolling my head, I look at Luc, who is kneeling so close to me my thigh is pressed up against his knees.
My eyes drop to my legs, then back to him. “I didn’t shave and this close you can see the stubble. I’m gross.”
“You just filled a toilet with vomit,” he says with a smile, then sits beside me. “I’m pretty sure it’s not your legs that are gross.”
I snort, then we both start laughing. I move the wet cloth from the back of my neck to wipe my face as I move on to chuckles and then silence as we sit side by side.
“So that’s morning sickness, huh?” Luc hazards a damn good guess.
“I’m thinking sausage might not do it for me,” I mutter as I roll my head back and stare at the toilet. I then groan at the thought of having to go through this every day. “I can’t do this.”
My voice is extra whiny on purpose, so I’m assuming Luc knows I’m teasing about that as well, also because he chuckles as he brings a hand down to my bare thigh and squeezes. I was prepared for this, and while being nauseous is like the worst thing in the world, I’m pretty sure it’s not what I need to be worrying about. No, that would be pushing a bowling ball out of my vagina.
Rolling my head back left, I look at Luc again, and he’s smiling at me. “I’ve got your back.”
“You can’t hold my hair over the toilet each time I’m sick,” I point out.