Then again, maybe she was having palpitations because she'd just thrown close to two thousand calories into her empty gut.
Or not. When John started to lick the frosting from his fingertips, she caught sight of his tongue and for a moment, she felt a stirring in her body--
Memories of Lash crushed the fragile bloom between her legs, the images taking her back to that bedroom, back to him on top of her, forcing her legs apart with his hard hands--
"Oh, fuck. . . " Lunging off the bed, she scrambled to the toilet and just barely made it in time.
It all came up. The two Danishes. The coffee. That turkey sandwich. Complete evac of everything she'd eaten.
As she heaved, she didn't feel the vomiting. She felt Lash's awful mitts on her skin. . . his body inside of hers, pounding away--
Annnnd there was the orange juice.
Oh, God. . . how had she gone through that with the bastard time and time again? The fists and the struggle and the biting. . . then the brutal sex.
Over and over and over. . . and then the aftermath. Washing him off of her. Out of her.
Fuck--
Another wave of heaving cut off her thoughts and though she hated throwing up, the shutdown on her brain was a relief. It was almost as if her body was trying to physically exorcise the trauma, just blow it out so that she could start over.
A reboot through booting, so to speak.
When the worst of the vomiting finished off, she sank onto her heels and rested her clammy forehead on her arm. As her breath sawed up and down her throat, her gag reflex quivered like it was considering getting organized again.
Nothing else in there, she told the damn thing. Not unless it wanted to try spring-loading her lungs.
Shit, she hated this part. Right after you'd been through hell, your mind and your environment were full of land mines and you never knew what could set off an explosion. Sure, over time, it faded, but the initial salvo back into "regular life" was a bitch and a half.
She lifted her head and hit the flusher.
As a cool washcloth brushed against her hand, she jumped, but it was just John, nothing for her to be frightened of.
And man, he had the only thing she really wanted at that moment: that clean, damp, cold washcloth was a godsend.
Burying her face in it, she shuddered in relief. "I'm sorry about that food. It was really good going down. "
Time for Doc Jane.
As Xhex sat sprawled naked on the floor in front of the toilet, John kept one eye on her and the other on the phone as he texted.
The second he hit send, he tossed the cell up onto the counter and pulled a fresh towel down from the stack next to the sink.
He wanted to give Xhex some modesty, but he was also having a hard time looking at how her spine threatened to break through the skin of her back. Wrapping her up, he let his hands linger on her shoulders.
He wanted to pull her into his chest, but he didn't know if she'd be into getting that clo--
Xhex eased back flush against him and arranged the towel, crossing the two halves over her front. "Let me guess. You hit up the good doctor. "
Moving himself around, he set his palms on the floor to support his torso and put his knees up so she was cradled on all sides by him. Not bad, he thought. The loo wasn't right in her face, but if she needed it, all she had to do was sit up straight.
"I'm not sick," she said, her voice hoarse. "From the operation or anything. Just ate too fast. "
Maybe, he thought. But then, there was no harm in Doc Jane's checking her over. Besides, they needed clearance before they went out tonight, assuming that was even possible now.
"Xhex? John?"
John whistled at the sound of the doctor's voice, and a moment later Vishous's female put her head into the bathroom.