Dickory

Hungover

Oh phck...I feel like I got run over by a phcking freight train...Twice...Gavin winced. His head pounded like a jackhammer. He hadn't even tried to move yet. This was bad. It was the worst feeling he'd ever experienced, and he'd been shot for Christ's sake! He curled up further, grabbing his head and squeezing his eyes shut as the nausea rolled over him like a fucking tidal wave. He couldn't help it. He didn't even try to move as the bile rose in his throat. He was about to just choke vomit all over the sheets when strong arms eased him up and something solid was held under his chin. Gavin reached blindly, hands finding the base of a large plastic basin as he choked and retched. A steady hand stroked circles on his back as he coughed and spluttered. Vomit burned his nose. He could usually throw up without that happening, but with his lack of focus, he'd just snorted the air out through his nose. He shuddered with embarrassment as he finally stopped and just leaned over the round tub, letting drool, bile, and snot drip from his mouth and stinging nose.

"Here, let me help." Gavin opened his eyes to squint through the blinding pain. Nines was dressed in lounge wear, clearly not intending to go out that day. He had a soft wet towel and a box of tissues ready. Gavin meekly let him help with gentle hands. His chin and nose were wiped clean by sympathetic hands. Nines gently insisted he blow his nose before replacing the used bucket with a fresh one. "Hold this," Nines instructed as he let Gavin grip the fresh basin. He bent over it with a pained whimper as his stomach turned again.

"How much did I phcking drink last night?" Most of the evening was just a big black smear. He winced and decided not to tax his brain by recalling the grim details just yet. His head was pounding way too much for that. He choked as another round of bile bubbled up his throat. He was alert enough to make sure it only came out of his mouth this time. He spat pathetically, using the damp cloth left on the side to wipe his chin clean. "Phck, this is bad..." His skin was pale and his limbs were trembling. He didn't remember a hangover ever being this bad.

"I'm aware, however, it isn't your fault on this occasion." Nines didn't explain further as he exchanged the bowls again. Gavin was feeling truly miserable as he leaned over the bowl and closed his eyes. His bed clothes felt sticky and unpleasant, and he felt dirty from vomiting even though he knew it hadn't gotten on him. He felt so weak, quivering where he was now perched on the edge of the bed. He knew he must look a sight. Pale skin, dark bloodshot eyes, and reddened lips. He winced as his head pounded again. "I'll return shortly," Nines assured before walking off somewhere. Gavin couldn't blame him. He wouldn't want to deal with him either. God, I'm so phcking pathetic! It hasn't been that long since I drank! When the phck did I become such a phcking lightweight? Nines was right, I shouldn't have drunk those cocktails. He winced as he choked vomit again, wondering whether he'd ever had such a bad reaction to alcohol before. Even as a teen, he didn't remember suffering this badly.

He spat and wiped his mouth, sighing in frustration as tears pricked his eyes. He was such a fucking loser. He couldn't even take care of himself. It was just a hangover, and here he was, shivering and cold, vomiting and spluttering like a pathetic moron looking for sympathy. No wonder Nines had washed his hands of him and escaped somewhere. There was a small dip on the bed and soft fur brushed his elbow as Pipsqueak appeared, almost as if he'd sensed his distress.

"Thanks, Pips, but go on...You don't want to get vomit in your fur," Gavin warned in a rasping voice as he gently moved his elbow to butt his head affectionately. Pipsqueak trilled before hopping down and padding across to the cat palace. The sound of post scratching reached Gavin's ears, and he smiled. Pipsqueak had never had a toy like that before. Phck, I'm a really shitty owner, aren't I? He winced as he tried to open his eyes more than a crack. The light fucking hurt! The pounding in his head didn't get any better as he realised he could hear the bath running. He hurled again, ribs aching with the effort this time. Four times in an hour. That had to be a new record for him.