Burn Into Me (Into Me Series Book Two)

Chapter Fourteen - Yellow

I'm not sure how to describe it.

Numb? I guess?

I knew this would be how things ended up, but the fact that it's the truth now... fuck this hurts. It hurts so bad. I wipe the tears off of my face, sniffling my nose.

I should be over this by now. It's been two fucking weeks. But every time I think I'm over it, something else pops up in my brain and drags me all the way back to the bottom again.

It feels like she fucking died. I think it would be easier if she had died because then I wouldn't be laying here running scenarios and asking "what if" so many fucking times a day it makes me nauseous.

No wait... I'm actually fucking nauseous.

I throw the covers off of my body, spooking Jackson in the process, and bolt to the bathroom. I make it to the toilet just in time to throw up what very little I had in my system. "Fuck!" I rage, spitting out the sour taste of stomach acid in my mouth.
"Are you okay?" Jackson asks from the doorway.
"Yeah, just give me a minute alone, please," I respond as my mouth starts watering again.
"Okay..." he sputters like it's physically painful for him not to be holding my hair back right now.

Listen, I think that if a human wants to yak by themselves, they should be able to fucking yak by themselves. It has absolutely nothing to do with how much you love someone but absolutely everything to do with your ability to puke in front of others. Which, yes, my track record with y'all is 2 for 0 of puking in front of others, but honestly, I really do prefer to do it in privacy. I hate looking weak. I hate even more the sounds I make when I throw up.

Which, again, not a very loud puker. My anxiety was so bad in high school that I would puke every morning before school. I learned how to puke basically silently so that I wouldn't wake my dad up or the parents of whoever's house I was staying at for the night—just another skill I used to be less of a burden on everyone in my life.

I retch again, my stomach cramping so violently that I want to curl up in a ball on the floor. I groan and hang my head forward, closing my eyes and trying to catch my breath as my mouth fills with saliva again. My body takes one more go at it, my stomach lurching, leaving me coughing and sputtering. I lean my back against the wall, panting to catch my breath. I feel like fucking shit. I groan, closing my eyes and letting my head fall back.

"Are you okay?" Jackson asks hesitantly from our bed.
"I'll be fine," I groan. I flush the toilet but keep my position against the wall.
"Are you feeling okay?" he wonders, his voice practically dripping with concern.
"Not in the slightest," I mumble. My head is pounding, the room is spinning, I'm drenched in sweat, I'm fucking exhausted, and it feels like I drank 20 gallons of water. "I think I have the stomach flu."
"Okay. Well, call off and take the day," he offers.
I open my eyes to glare at him, "No."
"Yes," he urges, cocking his eyebrow.
"I just puked, it's not like I'm dying. I'm fine, Jackson. Mama didn't raise no bitch," I explain, waving him off.
"Mama didn't raise anyone because she was fucking dead," he counters.
My jaw drops. "That was fucking rude," I respond, trying hard not to laugh.
"Am I wrong?" he challenges.
"No..." I snicker before completely losing it, laughing my ass off.

Jackson snorts and then loses it, clapping his hands as he laughs manically, bending over on the side of the bed and grabbing his stomach. He's practically in stitches. His obscure-ass guffaw makes me chortle even harder which only makes him crack up even harder. We look fucking insane. I'm 100% positive that if literally anyone was to see us like this right now, we would end up pink-slipped and admitted to the psych ward. Eventually, my laughter slows as the pain of my pissed-off stomach brings me back to reality. I groan again, pulling my knees into my chest.