Desolate - h.s. ✓

° forty-nine °

     The following weekend, my family and I were supposed to leave for New York. Though, it just so happened that I woke up needing to vomit. I barely made it to the toilet in time, my father walking by the bathroom as I threw up into the toilet. He entered, grabbing a hair tie and pulling my hair back.

"Jesus, how did you get sick?" he muttered, kneeling beside me. "Do you want me to stay with you? There's no way you'll be able to fly if you're throwing up."

I shook my head. The mere thought of my father missing out on a trip to New York because I happened to not feel well was not fair. If anything, I could go without visiting New York. My parents would surely take me back at some point, so I didn't think it would be that horrible.

"Nikki, if you want me to stay, I will. You look horrible."

"I'll just text Harry," I mumbled "Oh, I'm sure he'll love to see this," my dad laughed, the look on his face disappearing when I glared at him. "Sorry, sorry, you just look pretty rough."

"I'm throwing up!"

He shrugged, but said he would talk to my mother about me staying by myself for the week. I groaned when she came into the bathroom, clearly concerned with my well-being. She asked if I wanted her to stay with me, but I assured her that I would be fine. I also said they were already losing money with me not traveling, so I didn't want to have them lose more.

After they said goodbye, and I had at least fixed myself up some, I went downstairs to make a bowl of chicken noodle soup. My mother left money and the insurance card on the table, along with notes about me remembering certain things. Rolling my eyes, I made my soup, sitting at the counter and eating it carefully. About half an hour passed, and I had only eaten a fourth of the actual soup. Pulling my phone out, I found myself calling the only person that could truly help, thankful when he picked up right away.

"Hey, baby? Are you leaving for New York?"

"I stayed home."

"You did what?!" Harry asked. "Why? What were you thinking? I cannot believe you —"

"I was throwing up."

"Oh no!" he said quickly, and I was certain he was frowning on the other side of the line. "I can come over if you want? Should I bring anything?"

"I think just yourself. I'm not sure if I'll need to see a doctor."

"Well, we can see. I'll see you in ten minutes."

I tried to eat more soup, but I didn't really feel well enough. Groaning, I laid my head on the counter top. What was probably the allotted ten minutes, but felt like two, passed before Harry arrived. I wrapped my blanket around me, heading to the door and answering. He frowned when he saw me, kissing my forehead instantly.

"You look horrible."

"Finally. The kind of compliment I agree with."

He rolled his eyes, letting me lean against him easily. Harry shut the front door, locking it behind him. I wanted so badly to kiss him, but I knew it was a terrible idea. He felt my forehead, seeming pleased that I didn't appear to have a fever. However, before he had even really gotten to the family room I found myself rushing to the bathroom. Opening the toilet lid, and putting up the seat, I threw up again. My boyfriend came into the bathroom, kneeling beside me and rubbing my back.

"It's alright. You'll be fine," he assured.

Nodding, I spit the last of what came up out, flushing the toilet. Muttering under my breath, I shut my eyes, leaning against the tub. Arms wrapped around me though, Harry pulling me to sit between his legs. I was surprised he was willingly keeping me this close, but it made me feel somewhat better, the curly-haired boy shaking his head.