Red

Chapter Eight

Veronica POV:

I walk into the bathroom to find Chandler hunched over the toilet, face pale. I rush over to her, concerned. She said she was fine, but I knew she wasn't. She thinks she can lie to me. Yeah, right. "God, Chandler, you said you were fine..." I say. I hang my purse on the hook, kneeling down next to her. The purse would just swing around and get in the way, so I figure it's best to just leave it on the door.

"People say a lot of things they don't mean, Sawyer," she replies, sounding as sick as she looks. She lets out a soft groan, resting her head against the wall of the stall. "Shit," she mutters. Suddenly, her face contorts, and she leans over the toilet again, retching into it again. I put a hand on her back impulsively, worried about my beautiful girlfriend. When she sits back up again, there are tears in her eyes. Probably more from the strain of heaving into the toilet twice in less than a minute, but nonetheless, I become significantly more concerned.

"Okay, that's it, I'm taking you home," I say. "Come on."

"What?" she says, sounding out of it. "We just fucking got here."

"I... I know," I say. "There's always prom, dear, but right now, we're going home. I'll take you back to my house. We'll watch a movie or something."

"We can still make out, right?" she mumbles.

"We'll see if you're feeling up to it," I tease, knowing she's really not one to turn down such an opportunity. 

"I'm always feeling up to it," she says, managing a smug smile through the discomfort she must be feeling. Despite the fact that we've been dating for two weeks already, my cheeks still get pink when she says it. I stand and reach my hand down to help her up, and she stares at it for a second. "God, are you sure you want to leave already, Sawyer?"

"Is it me you're worried about?" I ask her.

"You... you were so excited about tonight," she says quietly.

"Hey, it's okay," I say. I crouch down next to her again, tilting her chin up so she's looking at me. "It's okay. I'd much rather you be comfortable at home then have to suffer here, alright? I care about you more than I care about any school dance." 

She sighs, seeming to understand, and I stand up again, offering her my hand for her once more. She takes it this time, allowing me to pull her into a standing position. She uses me for support for a moment, seemingly dizzy. She must have a stomach bug or something. My poor Chandler. 

Once she's stable again, she reaches over and flushes the toilet. Then, she goes over to the sink, running the water and cupping her hand under the water, collecting water in her hand. She lifts her hand up to her mouth, sipping some of the water before swishing it and spitting back into the sink. She reaches into her purse, taking out a mint container. She gets a mint out, popping it into her mouth. "For later," she says dismissively. I can't help but smile, and she puts the mints back into her purse.

I take her hand again, leading her out of the bathroom and into the crowded gym once more. We walk past all of the other kids. None of them are paying attention to us. Thank God. We can quickly and easily get out of here. At least, I figured we could. Then I remember: my purse. Shit. "Hey, I have to go back and get my purse. I left it in the-"