Darling

XXXIV

3rd pov 

She had finally convinced him.

It had taken a ridiculous amount of coaxing—soft, pleading eyes, quiet reassurances, promising over and over that she'd be fine on her own. Even then, Sebastian had agreed begrudgingly, jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line, like he was already regretting it.

But he let her go.

For a few hours.

Enough time to grab some of her things, to make his house feel less like a place she was staying and more like... something permanent.

The thought made her stomach twist, but she ignored it.

The drive back to her apartment had been uneventful, the silence almost too much after being in his home for so long, where even quiet moments were filled with his heavy presence.

But now, standing in her small bedroom, the walls feeling unfamiliar, the air stifling, she couldn't ignore the way her body protested every movement.

The nausea had started on the way up the stairs. A small, nagging sensation at the back of her throat, easy to brush aside.

Now, it was unbearable.

A violent wave of sickness crashed over her, and Clem barely had time to stumble toward the bathroom before she was retching, her body heaving, desperate to rid itself of something that wasn't even there.

She gripped the edges of the sink, her vision blurring, black spots dancing at the edges. The room tilted, the world shifting beneath her feet.

Too fast. Too much.

Her knees buckled.

The last thing she felt was the cold floor beneath her as everything went dark.

The world returned in fragments—muffled sounds, a dull pounding in her skull, the acrid taste of bile lingering in her mouth.

She was on the floor.

Her cheek pressed against the cold tile, her limbs heavy, useless. For a long moment, she stayed there, trying to gather her bearings, her mind sluggish as if weighed down by something far heavier than exhaustion.

She had passed out.

The realization sent a flicker of panic through her, weak but unmistakable. She forced herself to move, to push onto her elbows, but the second she lifted her head, the nausea came roaring back.

Oh God—

Clem barely had time to turn over before she was dry heaving, her stomach clenching violently, though there was nothing left to bring up. The force of it sent her body trembling, her skin damp with sweat.

She felt hollowed out.

Her breaths came in sharp, uneven pants, and when she tried to stand, her legs wobbled beneath her. She barely made it to the wall, gripping the edge of the sink for support, her knuckles white.

She needed water.

She needed to sit.

She needed to call—

A loud, sharp knock cut through the stillness of her apartment.

Clem's stomach twisted—not from sickness this time, but from something else.

She knew exactly who it was.

Of course, he would come.

Even after all her reassurances.

Even after telling him she was fine.

He must have sensed something.

She barely made it to the door.