Eight hours later…
Apparently on my way home I’d taken a detour to the ocean and set sail on a raft. That ocean was currently being hit by a hurricane which was making it go up and down, up and down, up and… taking in a gulp of air, I did my best to stop the contents of my stomach making a bid for freedom, and then took another one.
Then the raft changed into a rollercoaster that was chugging up the tracks to three thousand feet above the ground, and then it just let rip with no warning and plummeted back down, taking a sharp right before we could hit the floor, a sharp left, going up and down…
And that’s when I jumped out of the taboggan looking rollercoaster car that I was sitting in, opened my eyes, recognized my home, and blindly stumbled to the nearest bathroom to wave goodbye to what I’d been trying to persuade to stay inside me. I had never, not once, been sick after a night out, and I never ever, not once, wanted to do it again. Every heave felt like I had a gorilla trying to break out my skull, while two anacondas blocked off my airway and a porcupine rolled around inside my stomach.
Seventy-four-thousand heaves later it was all over and I was left curled in a ball on the bathroom floor, trying to remember the last time I’d cleaned it and if anyone had come over and used it since. I knew my toilet habits so I was safe with the knowledge that if I was the only one who’d used it, the floor I was lying on was clean. Anyone else’s toilet habits, though, then I needed to go and boil myself in the shower with bleach.
Thankfully my memory – what little of it I had – pulled up a replay of me cleaning the place yesterday afternoon and the fact that no one else had used it since. I still needed to boil myself because it was a toilet so eww, but I didn’t need to use bleach so that was a relief.
Pulling myself up using the edge of the sink, I leaned my head on the countertop and aimed a weak hand swipe at my toothbrush and toothpaste. So long as I kept my movements slow, small, and lived basically from now on, I’d survive the hell going on inside my body. Also, so long as I brushed my teeth four times and gargled with mouthwash I wouldn’t throw up again. So that’s what I did.
I was just drying my face when my phone started ringing in my bedroom, making me groan at the thought of moving.
Looking at the blurry person in the mirror, I moaned, “I’m not ready.”
Apparently the person calling agreed with this because the phone stopped ringing. Sinking back down on the floor, I rested my head on the cool tiles, and my moans this time were because that just felt freaking awesome.
Until the phone started ringing again… then again…
Whimpering, I crawled back through to the bedroom and tugged on the white cord that was responsible for juicing up the device from Satan, letting it drop from the bedside table onto the rug before answering it.
I didn’t put it to my ear because that would involve movement and co-ordination. Instead, I hit the green button and immediately hit the speakerphone one. “What?”
A voice that sounded equally as rough as mine croaked, “Are you dying too?”
Lowering so that I was face down on my new rug, I groaned, “Yes.”
“I’ve never felt this bad in my life, and I pushed a baby out my vagina.”
That was a weird thing for a random voice to say, but I couldn’t even begin to analyze it, not when I had the inhabitants of a heavy metal mosh pit headbanging inside my skull. “Did that happen last night?”
I didn’t remember someone doing that, but we’d been drinking pretty heavily so who knew what was going on under the table?
Just then a baby started crying in the background and I heard a deep voice say, “I’ll get her,” as the person on the phone started making crying whining noises too.
“I swear when she does that it feels like an axe murderer is attacking my brain,” it wailed, which then made me start whimpering because I felt her pain.
I wanted to let her know that and that she had my full sympathy, but the words just wouldn’t form. At last, after what felt like seventy years of pain, the baby settled, and both of us let out relieved sighs at the same time.
“So are you ready to go?” the voice asked, and I slowly lowered my head to look at what I was wearing, not once lifting it up from the rug or noticing the abrasiveness of the fabric on my cheek. I was in a tank top and panties, that was it, and I wasn’t sure what we were doing, but I was sure that my current outfit wasn’t suitable for public consumption.