Page 123 of A Dead Man's B-Side
As if a fire suddenly lit within my muscles, I dove to catch her at the very last second before her head hit the hardwood floor. She gripped my arms around her before scratching at her throat. Panic overtook me at the sight, even more so when she began to gurgle. Someone must have taken control of my body because I moved without thinking into the bathroom, carrying as much of her weight as she would allow when she wasn’t shoving and clawing at me, audibly trying to swallow in what her body wanted out.
“Paris, you need to–listen to me, you need to vomit.” I dragged her to the toilet and positioned her over it as she shook her head almost aggressively. A shivering wince racked its way through my body at the sounds bouncing around the small room, which only made my words more forceful. “You’re choking, Paris. You need to vomit it out. I’m sorry but this is for your own good. I’m sorry.”
With those last two words, I locked her arms behind her back, seizing her movement with one hand and shoving my fingers down her throat with the other.
She forced her head back, trying to get away, and it took a few tries before I could get two fingers past her tongue.
The sounds of her choking and gagging, trying to speak around the spasm in her throat and the space my fingers occupied, drew a sting behind my eyes I urged away.
“I’m sorry.” Now it was my turn to chant as she tried kicking her legs out. It felt like an eternity before the sounds of her induced vomiting filled the bathroom. I pulled my fingers away as fast as I could and released her arms from the tight hold I’d had them in, watching as she surged forward to grip the toilet seat and duck her head in as far as she could.
She vomited a few times, trying to speak between each choked pause, but her sobs wouldn't let her. When she ran out of anything else to throw up and was reduced to dry-heaving, I let myself relax, but only by a little.
I was distantly acquainted with bad trips and wouldn’t let my shoulders drop because of it, waiting for the impending crash that always followed.
Really, this could go one of two ways; Paris could continue to direct her anger towards me, only this time with a clear mind, or she could be hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion.
She could be disoriented or grounded. But the shaking and sweating wouldn’t subside fully until at least an hour, depending on everything she consumed.
I prepared for both.
Her body slumped back against my chest as I reached to rip a piece of tissue and wipe her mouth as best I could.
She squirmed only a little before turning to hide her face against my uniform. I felt slightly out of place as I tried my best to comfort her when her shoulders began to shake, her soft, muffled cries feeling soul-sucking. Slowly, as if almost afraid—which was strange because I preferred not to allow the weightless rush of fear if I could help it, I let my arms fall around her. Like a heavy cloak trying to ward off a sharp and icy wind.
But Paris’ cries felt as if someone had shoved a rock down my throat and left me to my solitude. I found myself helpless in stopping any pain she might’ve been feeling because, despite my vague familiarity with the scene, I wasn’t anyone of use for a heart to heart.
I didn’t believe you could fill a cup with an empty pitcher.
“Paris, let’s get you moved, okay?” My words came out softer than I’d thought possible, and I was proud of my voice, vacant of any shakiness.
Her sobs subsided into hiccups as she nodded, disassociated, and I stood on firm legs, carrying her along with me.
When I placed her on her bed, pulling the duvet up to cover her, I stepped back hesitantly, at a loss for what to do next. “Um… Get some sleep.”
Coming up short on what else there was to say, I listened for her sluggish mumble, drowned out by the fatigue in her voice.
My eyes moved to her desk as I retrieved the trash bin and placed it next to her, pulling her chair closer towards her now sleeping form and settling upon it.
It didn’t take long to come down from the adrenaline high of what’d just happened. And I didn’t want to think about what this would mean for the Founder’s Society. Of course, it stilted many operations currently at play for me. I'd have to ask Wolf to cover my turn on keeping an eye on Scott and put a pause on the study marathon I was planning for LAW 400. I was skipping his class enough that there were sure to be consequences, but I didn’t want to give Mr Browne the benefit of the doubt that I was not keeping up with his class work.
It would also mean I’d have to hide something else from Rain.
I let out a deep sigh, willing the clenching in my stomach to go away. My own fatigue washed away the realm of reality in front of me with each slow blink, until whatever my mind could conjure up as a fitting nightmare dragged me under.
“Sasha.”
The name felt wrong. Or.
The voice felt wrong.
“Sasha.”
I lifted my head from where it lay on the cold tiles and looked up.
“Mama.”
My voice was muddled and far away. It sounded young coming out of my throat, my accent thicker than it should be.
