Swapping Spit (Nouis) [under editing]

Chp 26-Sick

I edited chapters 7, 14, and 21 so I suggest you reread those before reading this new chapter! Just a different ending on 7 was added, but 14 I changed a lot of it, and not much in 21. So yeahhhhh, read, comment, and vote!

-----

Louis' POV

The night draws out painstakingly slowly. I'm bored out of my mind, thinking repetitive thoughts about Richard and the lads and also Niall. My memory comes slowly back from when we were at the bar. I remember Niall's touch, how it sent shivers across my body. His lips, their plump roundness. I miss him so much it hurts. I hope I get out of this alive so I can see him again.

Richard suddenly speaks up and frightens me.

"So, you and Niall, eh? Who would'a thought."

Anger flares through me. "Fuck you," I spit. He just laughs and our conversation, if that, ceases.

I'm still confused about Niall and I but this long car ride has given me time to think it over. The attachment I feel for him is strong and only worsening because I can't see him.

Soon, all I can think of is my stomachache. It feels like my gut is on fire. Every bump in the road causes me to feel more nauseous. I hold a hand to my stomach, trying to relieve the pain.

I also feel like I have a fever because I'm shivering but sweating. I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes. Sleep threatens my body, but fear overpowers it.

I decide to look around and gather as much information as possible. The dashboard says we're headed east and it's 4:30 in the morning.

The car drives over another bump and my stomach lurches. I groan and bite my lip, resisting the urge to throw up. My hands start to tingle and I yawn. This feeling is fimiliar; I always feel like this before I puke.

"Richard," I call out weakly, despite being beyond pissed at him.

"What?" he says blandly. He doesn't look away from the road.

"I-I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"What? Like right now?" he starts to fret. He glances back and his eyebrows raise out of doubt but worry.

I begin to say, "I don't kno-" but another wave of nausea wracks my stomach and I quickly clamp a hand over my mouth and nod my head.

Richard swears and swerves over to the exit lane. I focus on not puking until we pull over. He parks the car crooked and grabs me from the backseat. We sprint into the stone rest-stop, Richard tightly gripping my forearm. We earn some curious stares from other people in the building but pay no mind.

"Where are the bathrooms?!" Richard says to himself loudly. A young woman overhears him and points to our left. "Over there," she motions.

Without thanking her we run in that direction, quickly ducking into the restrooms.

"Go!" Richard ushers me and lets go of my arm. I stumble into an open stall and lock the door before turning around and spilling my guts into the toilet.

I collapse to my knees and hug the sides of the bowl, too sick to care about how gross that may be. I continue to be voilently sick for a few minutes until my stomach is completely empty.

The back of my throat burns which causes tears to trickle down my cheeks from the strain. I take a wad of toilet paper and blow my nose, gagging slightly. I lean against the stall wall and hold my stomach in the fetal position. I massage my aching head, the area where Richard punched me hurting worse. Closing my eyes, I try to recuperate.