All's Fair in Love and Las Vegas

Chapter Thirty-Nine

        Have you ever been woken up violently in the night, by your own body? That's what my stomach did. I was dreaming away peacefully until the nausea hit so hard it woke me up. I barely had time to comprehend how miserable I felt before I had to make a break for the bathroom, shoving Grayson out of bed accidentally in the process.

        I didn't make it in time, throwing up a little down the front of my shirt before finally skidding in front of the toilet. Gripping the edge of the seat, I emptied my stomach completely. A few seconds in, I felt Grayson holding back my hair from my face. 

        "I'm okay," I tried to squeak out–right as I vomited again.

        "Shh, it's okay, don't talk," he said, reaching over my shoulder and flushing the toilet. "Breath whenever you feel like you can."

        That was easier said than executed. Finally I was done–but the nausea was still hovering over me. Wiping my mouth, I whispered, "I'm so sorry."

        "No, no," he said a little frantically. "Don't be sorry, Jacks, you're clearly sick."

        "You should go back to sleep," I said feebly, wishing my mouth didn't taste so awful.

        Grayson shook his head. "That's okay, let me stay up with you."

        A horrible thought crossed my mind. "Did I throw up on your sheets?" I asked, horrified.

        I could tell that he considered lying for a second. "Just a little."

        "Oh my gosh." That was the end of me holding it together. Tears welled up in my eyes and I covered my face, mortified.

        "Oh, Jackie, don't cry," he murmured sympathetically. "Sweetheart, it's okay. You don't need to be upset, everyone throws up once in a while."

        "B-but I wrecked your sheets, and I'm keeping you awake even though you're tired," I sobbed. This was the last straw after an achingly long week.

        "You're just keeping yourself awake, and I can easily change the sheets," he said soothingly. A hair tie appeared in his hands and I cried as he put my hair in a real ponytail. "Now how about I find you some clean clothes, hmm?"

        A new wave of sadness hit. "I don't have any clean comfy clothes," I confessed, the tears coming thicker with this announcement.

        Grayson looked genuinely heartbroken for me. "Oh, Jackie," he said, hugging me–or at least sort of comforting me while trying to hold my soiled shirt away from himself. "I'll be right back, okay?"

        I nodded miserably and sat on the cold bathroom floor, tracing the grooves of the tiles with my fingertip. A moment later, the door opened and Grayson knelt down to hand me one of his long, white undershirts.

        "Change into this for now, okay? I'm going to remake the bed," he said.

        I nodded and he kissed my forehead. Slowly, I managed to pull off my t-shirt. Then I removed my pants after discovering that they were wrecked, too. So I wiggled into Grayson's shirt, wearing only that and my underwear. At least it was long enough to pass as a dress.

        I'd stopped crying by the time Grayson returned, but I still felt both sick and sad. He sat down next to me on the floor again, this time handing me a warm mug. "I made you tea. It should help," he said quietly.

        "Thank you," I mumbled. "I must've eaten something foul, although I don't see how it could've hit me this late. Dinner was hours ago."

        "Foul?" he teased. "You're picking up on my accent."