(I Just) Died In Your Arms ~ Stanley Uris

010

Julia's POV

After Richie left, Stan shut the door and stared at me wide-eyed with concern, my arm sling over his shoulders for support.

"What the hell did you do?" He asked, using his free hand to brush the strands of hair that were in front of my face behind my ear.

"Bowers was following us around and attacked us." I said quickly, taking a long shaking breath. "He kicked me really, really hard in the stomach. Please...please help me." I whispered out.

It felt like my skin was being pulled away from my body inch but inch, and my insides felt all mixed up and jumbled as if I had gone upside down one too many times. I wanted to faint, that's how much it hurt.

"What do you need? Advil? Ice? Water?" He asked frantically, looking around, I shook my head and groaned in pain.

"No I just need....I just need to lay down." I mumbled, and tried to get away from his arm, but he held on tightly.

"You think you're going to walk all the way upstairs by yourself?" He asked, looking me up and down. "I'm carrying you. You shouldn't hurt yourself further."

I looked into his eyes, trying to win in almost a staring contest, but his unsmiling, emotionless glare got me. I turned to my side so he could pick me up and carry me up the stairs.

One of his arms held the bend of my knees, and the other was gripped just below my chest. I felt comfortable, and the throbbing, almost numbing pain, was subsiding slightly.

Stan laid me carefully down on his bed and pushed a pillow under my head. I wanted to curl up into a ball, but it hurt just to move. He sighed and looked down at me sympathetically.

"I have to finish washing the dishes, but I'll be right back. Try not to move too much, Jules." I could hear his footsteps retreating the room, but I couldn't even muster up the courage to turn my head to see him walk away.

There was a turning in my stomach, almost like a Watermill. Now, when there was less commotion, I could feel everything. How my head was pounding, I was breaking a sweat, and my stomach was in so much pain. I could tell my cheeks were pale, because I didn't feel the warmth of blood in them as I usually did.

Stan's blankets rested on my feet, I had stuck them underneath for warmth. His room was dim, which made my eyes strain.

Suddenly it felt as if my stomach had switched directions. I could feel my heartbeat in my head, a wave of panic ran over me. I shot right up, ignoring the stabbing pain with each move. I sprinted right over to his bathroom, went down on my knees, and puked into his toilet, holding onto the rim.

The strain from hurling made my abs burn harshly, and hot welling tears came from my eyes. My throat burned.

I could hear Stan rushing up stairs. He made his way right to the bathroom, and saw me, sprawled over the bowl.

"Jesus Christ." He mumbled, sitting down next to me.

The tears ran down my cheeks as I profusely apologized, flushing the toilet and putting the lid down. I sat down, useless, resting my back against the wall. I was exhausted, and I wanted to lay down and sleep.

"You need sleep." Stan pointed out, plopping down beside me. He put his hand on my back, trying to reassure me.

"I'm sorry." My voice sounded like on the verge of tears, and I felt my eyes welling up with tears again, putting my head in my hands.

"It's okay. Let it all out. You'll feel better." His hand moved in small circles, as I let out a quivering sob.

"Stan, why is everything going to shit?" I asked, lifting my head from my arms. "First it's the clown, then the dumb house, then Richie and Bill's fight, and now Bowers coming after us even more? Oh, and to top it all off my dad's an asshole and I'm hiding out in your place! How am I supposed to live with all that?" I blubbered, tears profusely leaving my eyes. My eyes were red and swollen, and my cheeks were splotchy.