I was disgusting. Literally if I could throw myself away like a napkin, I would. That's how bad I was. I was slouched on the bathroom floor, head against the wall, aching limbs spread out, every now and then hunching over the toilet bowl and trying to dry heave my intestines. Not to mention my hair was tangled, unwashed, and dreadful and I wore ugly sweatpants with Clorox stains everywhere and an old battered t-shirt I used to paint with. Yes ladies and gentlemen, I was sick. This is how sick people looked, or sounded like. Unfortunately, I'm not one of those girls that still looks flawless and wears the common cold like a damn fashion statement. No, what I had was probably a nasty virus of some kind. If I weren't a better person I'd cry Ebola.
Even Scar had to agree. Considering every time she came in after washing my puke infested trash can she'd be covered from head to toe, mask on her face, scarf wrapped around her head, and sunglasses covering her eyes as if I were the plague itself. Got to love her though, I mean she cleaned my puke, not once but several times and not just in one place, but the kitchen, hall, stairs, my room, and bathroom collectively. The bravery on that girl was impeccable considering I don't even like looking at my own vomit let alone cleaning it or anyone else's up.
"You're disgusting," Scar groaned as I heaved into the toilet bowl again.
"Telepathy, I was thinking the same-" I started before going into a "hacking out my esophagus" fit.
"Just shut up and stop trying to sound normal," Scar told me, patting my back lightly, even though I knew in her head she was smashing my head into the porcelain tub.
I could imagine it. Brain smushing against my skull, guts and blood oozing down my nose and face before finally coughing one final time and my brain slipping through my nose. I know, morbid and disgusting. But it's more than obvious I'm dramatic as a sick person. No one likes me.
"You look like you're dying," Scar observed.
"I feel like I'm dying," I retorted, rubbing my aching belly in comfort. Suddenly the doorbell ringing registered in my throbbing head. My eyes narrowed when Scar sighed in obvious annoyance.
"Who's that?" I asked her suspiciously.
"Mason, who else?" she replied.
"What the hell is he doing here?" I asked, sitting up.
"To check on you," Scar said as if I was supposed to already know this.
"Well don't answer it," I told her, alarmed when she turned to leave.
"Why not, it's not like he doesn't know we're here. The car is parked in the driveway in plain sight", She said.
"I don't care, I don't want him seeing me like this," I hissed, gesturing to my ugliness.
"Oh please, that's the least of your problems. At least you look better than when he saw you yesterday," Scar told me, smirking.
"What?" I gasped, eyes widening.
"He came by yesterday but you were knocked into a coma from all those meds you popped into your system. You were sprawled out on the bed, limbs hanging off the edges, snoring, and mouth hanging open with drool dripping from your chin to your neck," Scar explained, laughing as she did.
"Lies," I gasped in disbelief.
"Oh yeah? Ask AJ, shoot ask Mason," Scar cackled.
"You let him see me like that, you ass," I screeched, my cheeks burning in embarrassment.
"Don't worry your looks were the last thing on his mind. Trust me. You were so pale, you looked dead. He thought you overdosed," Scar laughed at the thought, probably wishing I had.
