stop her from falling.
I pick her up and carry her to the bathroom,
checking to make sure she stays conscious.
I'm such a fucking bastard. I was supposed
to be looking out for her. And I let her drink herself sick, and
nearly took advantage of her.
I set her down on the edge of the bathtub,
and make sure she's steady before I get a washcloth and run some
cool water over it. I press it to her forehead.
"Fuck, Ror, you only had three drinks at the
bars. You didn't take any drinks from anyone else, did you?"
She shakes her head. "No, you told me not
to," she says shakily.
I rake my finger through my hair. Even for
the most inexperienced drinker, it shouldn't be enough to get her
sick. "How much sangria did you drink at dinner?"
She shrugs. "Two glasses?" It's a question,
and it doesn't leave me with too much confidence.
"Fuck, Rory." And then I'm hit with a scary
thought. I narrow my eyes at her. "Did you take a pill tonight,
Rory?"
I know immediately that
I'm right, even before her slow nod.
Goddamn it,
doesn't she know how
dangerous that is?!
"Damn it, Rory! Don't you know you're not
supposed to drink on those?!"
But she looks so adorably
contrite that I can't even stay mad. "I... I didn't think about it.
I didn't want to freak out and ruin everyone's night. I just wanted
one night to be normal. I took it before we went out, I…
forgot."
There's that word
again.
Normal
.
She doesn't even see the irony of the most incredible,
extraordinary girl wishing she was just like every other girl who
barely ever even turned my head.
I can't even hide my affection for her when
I'm still kind of mad. Well, congratulations, Pine. You took drugs
and drank and now you're sick. Welcome to teenage normalcy," I tell
her.
I get up but she grabs my hand to stop me,
and she looks almost frightened.
"I'm just going to get you some water. Look,
Rory, you should probably throw up. I think you probably will
anyway, but either way, you should make yourself," I tell her.
She makes an adorably repulsed face and I
can't help but crack a smile.
"Stop being cute, I'm still mad at you."
I go and grab some water for her, and hand
her the bottle. She looks at it dubiously.
"I can't. My stomach," she croaks.
Yeah, she needs to puke.
"Come." I hold out my hands to her and she
trembles as she slips hers into mine. I guide her down in front of
the toilet and gather her hair away from her face. I rub up and
down her back. "You need to throw up, Ror. Trust me, you'll feel
better," I encourage her.
She gags, but she isn't listening, she's
still trying to hold it in.
"Go... away," she chokes out.
"Rory…" I chasten her. Why
won't she just listen to me for once?
"Please. Don't... want you
to see me throw up…"
Oh. Well that's just
stupid. Doesn't she know I already find her irresistible? A little
vomit isn't going to change that.
"Yeah, well I don't want to see you in the
hospital. So I need you to throw up for me, okay?"
"I'll do it if you leave."
But I'm not leaving her, and she hasn't got
a choice in the matter. She wretches into the toilet a moment
later, and I sit beside her, holding her hair and rubbing her
back.
"There you go," I encourage her.
When she's finally emptied her stomach, she
sighs with relief and sits back, resting her head against the
toilet seat.
"That's my girl," I
whisper. She's not, of course. But it's this moment – when I've
just witnessed her throw up more than I ever thought could fit
inside her little body, when her head is pressed to the fucking
toilet – that I wish she could be. Not just something more than
friends, but
my
girl .
It's the first time I've ever actually
wanted a girlfriend. But I would do anything for this girl. And I'd
rather spend an evening stuck next to a toilet with her, than
anywhere else, doing anything else, with anyone else.
And I know, somehow, that given the chance,
I could feel this way forever.
She asks for privacy again, which I
refuse.
I tell her I want her
I pick her up and carry her to the bathroom,
checking to make sure she stays conscious.
I'm such a fucking bastard. I was supposed
to be looking out for her. And I let her drink herself sick, and
nearly took advantage of her.
I set her down on the edge of the bathtub,
and make sure she's steady before I get a washcloth and run some
cool water over it. I press it to her forehead.
"Fuck, Ror, you only had three drinks at the
bars. You didn't take any drinks from anyone else, did you?"
She shakes her head. "No, you told me not
to," she says shakily.
I rake my finger through my hair. Even for
the most inexperienced drinker, it shouldn't be enough to get her
sick. "How much sangria did you drink at dinner?"
She shrugs. "Two glasses?" It's a question,
and it doesn't leave me with too much confidence.
"Fuck, Rory." And then I'm hit with a scary
thought. I narrow my eyes at her. "Did you take a pill tonight,
Rory?"
I know immediately that
I'm right, even before her slow nod.
Goddamn it,
doesn't she know how
dangerous that is?!
"Damn it, Rory! Don't you know you're not
supposed to drink on those?!"
But she looks so adorably
contrite that I can't even stay mad. "I... I didn't think about it.
I didn't want to freak out and ruin everyone's night. I just wanted
one night to be normal. I took it before we went out, I…
forgot."
There's that word
again.
Normal
.
She doesn't even see the irony of the most incredible,
extraordinary girl wishing she was just like every other girl who
barely ever even turned my head.
I can't even hide my affection for her when
I'm still kind of mad. Well, congratulations, Pine. You took drugs
and drank and now you're sick. Welcome to teenage normalcy," I tell
her.
I get up but she grabs my hand to stop me,
and she looks almost frightened.
"I'm just going to get you some water. Look,
Rory, you should probably throw up. I think you probably will
anyway, but either way, you should make yourself," I tell her.
She makes an adorably repulsed face and I
can't help but crack a smile.
"Stop being cute, I'm still mad at you."
I go and grab some water for her, and hand
her the bottle. She looks at it dubiously.
"I can't. My stomach," she croaks.
Yeah, she needs to puke.
"Come." I hold out my hands to her and she
trembles as she slips hers into mine. I guide her down in front of
the toilet and gather her hair away from her face. I rub up and
down her back. "You need to throw up, Ror. Trust me, you'll feel
better," I encourage her.
She gags, but she isn't listening, she's
still trying to hold it in.
"Go... away," she chokes out.
"Rory…" I chasten her. Why
won't she just listen to me for once?
"Please. Don't... want you
to see me throw up…"
Oh. Well that's just
stupid. Doesn't she know I already find her irresistible? A little
vomit isn't going to change that.
"Yeah, well I don't want to see you in the
hospital. So I need you to throw up for me, okay?"
"I'll do it if you leave."
But I'm not leaving her, and she hasn't got
a choice in the matter. She wretches into the toilet a moment
later, and I sit beside her, holding her hair and rubbing her
back.
"There you go," I encourage her.
When she's finally emptied her stomach, she
sighs with relief and sits back, resting her head against the
toilet seat.
"That's my girl," I
whisper. She's not, of course. But it's this moment – when I've
just witnessed her throw up more than I ever thought could fit
inside her little body, when her head is pressed to the fucking
toilet – that I wish she could be. Not just something more than
friends, but
my
girl .
It's the first time I've ever actually
wanted a girlfriend. But I would do anything for this girl. And I'd
rather spend an evening stuck next to a toilet with her, than
anywhere else, doing anything else, with anyone else.
And I know, somehow, that given the chance,
I could feel this way forever.
She asks for privacy again, which I
refuse.
I tell her I want her
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