Let it? Who was I kidding? I had absolutely no control over my body’s response to what amounted to nothing more than a few bad memories.
If I had had control, I most certainly would have made it to the bathroom before puking my guts out.
Or I would have at least had the sense to expel the contents of my stomach anywhere else besides where the mess ultimately landed.
All over Rush’s shoes.
CHAPTER THREE
RUSH
My heart hurt for Christopher as he continued to vomit until there was nothing left in his system to expel.
As soon as he’d started throwing up, I’d dropped one hand to the back of his neck to support him as best I could. I didn’t give a shit that my boots were taking the brunt of it; they’d seen worse.
Christopher’s skin felt cold and clammy beneath my palm. It confirmed what I’d already suspected.
The young man wasn’t throwing up because he was sick. The episode had been brought on by some event in his mind that I’d likely triggered with all my rambling. Unfortunately, I couldn’t figure out what I’d said. But I’d seen the look in his eyes when something had shifted. I’d made the mistake of touching him in the hopes of comforting him, but apparently, I hadn’t removed my hand quickly enough.
As the retching stopped, Christopher just hung there for a moment. I let my hand slide down the back of his neck to his shoulder. “Hey,” I said softly. “It’s okay.”
Christopher didn’t respond at all other than to wipe his mouth with his still-gloved hand.
“Hey,” I repeated in the hopes of getting him to look at me, but instead, Christopher shrugged my hand off his shoulder.
“I’ll be right back,” he murmured. He stood shakily, but when I tried to stand to assist him, he shook his head. “No, please, can you just… can you wait here?”
There was no denying the need in his voice.
The need to escape.
Knowing he probably wanted to pull himself together both physically and mentally, I let him go. He promptly went to the kitchen and returned with a dish towel, which he handed me. As soon as I took it, he quietly went up the stairs and disappeared for several minutes. I used the time to clean off my boots and the surrounding floor, but since it was an area rug, it was easier said than done. I went to the kitchen to look for any kind of carpet cleaner beneath his sink but couldn’t find anything. Since I wasn’t about to snoop around his kitchen, I wetted down the towel with water and returned to the living room to clean the mess up as best I could. A quick return to the kitchen had me tossing the dish towel into the sink and then reaching underneath for the dustpan and broom I’d seen earlier.
I made quick work of cleaning up as much of the glass as I could but made a mental note to remind Christopher to vacuum the area just to be sure. I was in the process of dumping the contents of the dustpan into the garbage when I sensed I was no longer alone. Sure enough, Christopher was watching me.
“Hey, you okay?” I asked as I quickly put the dustpan and broom away.
“You didn’t need to do that,” Christopher murmured as he looked back at the spot where I’d taken out his side table. I’d tossed the broken pieces of wood along the wall as I’d been cleaning up the glass.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” I said as I motioned to the debris. “Maybe you can send me a link for the store where you got them?”
Christopher shook his head. “It’s fine. Can I… Can I finish…?” He motioned to my head.
“Yeah, sure,” I responded, though the last thing I was worried about was my head. I followed Christopher back to the living room. He made sure to steer clear of the soiled part of the carpet and motioned for me to sit. Pip had curled himself up into a tiny ball at the end of the couch, so I took the other end. This time, Christopher sat next to me on the couch, but he was all business. Within two minutes, my wound was cleaned and covered with butterfly bandages.
Christopher climbed to his feet and quickly grabbed all the debris from the supplies before hurrying to the kitchen. I followed but didn’t say anything. He was once again the Christopher he’d been when King and I had arrived, and I knew in my gut that nothing I said would get through to the old Christopher.
“I’ll pay to have your boots professionally cleaned, or if you prefer, I can buy you new ones,” the young man said as he began wiping down the already spotless countertop. It was likely just an excuse to keep his back to me.