Scholar // Phan

Two

"Hello?" someone shouted. "Is anyone here?"

Now, at that point I had two options: either A) notify the stranger of my location, only to have him walk in on me hurling into the toilet, or B) stay quiet and either have him find me on his own or scare him to death later.

Decisions, decisions.

Now, considering I didn't want to openly invite this stranger to come in and watch me puke into a toilet that could very well be his, I decided to go for option B. I remained quiet, kneeling on the bathroom floor with my forehead rested on the toilet seat, praying to any god I could think of that my roommate wouldn't find me.

Which, of course, caused me to throw up again.

I heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

Shit shit shit shit shit...

"Hey are you—oh, oh..."

This is the part where I break the fourth wall and ask, dear reader, what does one do in a situation like this? I'm keeled over a bathroom toilet, a random guy—probably one of my new housemates—is standing behind me, and even though neither of us have seen each other's faces yet, he has already seen me vomiting into a toilet. Do I wipe my mouth and start a conversation? Do I continue to hurl, hoping he goes away? Do I apologize and pray that he doesn't kill me for soiling his precious bathroom?

"Hey, do you need help?" he asked.

"No no, I'm fine I just—" I was cut off by another round of vomit.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. The boy said nothing until I stopped. "Come on, where's your room?"

"Upstairs," I said. I groaned, wiping my mouth. "God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Hey, don't worry about it. Let's get you upstairs."

He helped me up and walked with me upstairs. "Which bedroom is yours?"

"That one," I said, pointing to the first door.

"Oh, really? That's the one I usually sleep in."

"Is it?" I say, surprised. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to take it, I just found the first one and—"

"No, no, you're fine. I just usually share it with my friends PJ and Chris. There's a free bed, you don't have to move."

I sighed in relief. He walked in with me and sat me on my bed, then left.

I groaned and laid down, rubbing my temples. I could hear the boy's feet clambering down the stairs, then the sink running.

Crap, he's going to clean it up, isn't he?

I got up and started walking down the hallway and down the stairs. I reached the bottom and saw the boy standing at the sink with a glass of water. He turned and looked at me, surprised.

"Sorry," I said. "I just... didn't want for you to clean it up."

He smiled and shook his head. "No, you don't have to. You should be upstairs resting."

"No, really, I'm fine. It happens a lot, I just needed to calm down."

He was quiet for a moment, looking me up and down. He finally said, "You're positive you're feeling alright?"

"Positive."

"Alright. At least have some water." He handed me the glass. I smiled slightly and took it, murmuring a slight "thank you."

The boy smiled. "No problem." He began to turn back towards the kitchen before putting up a finger and turning quickly, as if he'd forgotten something. "By the way, I never did get your name."

"Oh, my name? It's Dan. Dan Howell."

"Nice to meet you, Dan. My name's Phillip." He extended a hand. I reached out and shook it. "But you can call me Phil."