Page 108 of Press Play

“A new pizzeria opened, and I thought we should give it a try.”

“Seriously?” She opens the box for the gluten-free pizza, and her eyes widen. “It smells divine.”

The air fills with the enticing scent of the freshly baked crust, crispy and golden. It’s followed by the rich, tangy scent of tomato sauce, with a hint of garlic, oregano, and basil, creating a savory base that permeates the air. The cheese is melted perfectly, and when she gets herself a slice, it pulls and snaps.

“This is gluten-free?” she asks with an arched brow.

“That and the fries.”

“This just might be the best day of my life. Thank you, baby.” Sitting beside me, she kisses my cheek and hugs me before digging in.

“Eat your heart out. You deserve it.”

Dancing in her seat, she sways back and forth while chewing. Before I make my plate, I admire her with a soft smile. There are several things I regret in life, but I can say for certain that Wren isn’t one of them. I’m a better person because of her. Without Wren, I would be a husk lost in the depth of his mind. Without her, I might not even be here today.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Wren

It’sdark when I open my eyes, and I wish I could go back to sleep.

“Shit,” I mumble as I sit up.

I clutch my stomach as a thousand tiny knives twist inside me. The pain is subtle yet relentless, radiating in waves that make it challenging to think and hard to breathe.

A wave of nausea washes over me, catapulting me out of bed and urging me into the bathroom. I lock the door behind me, and my knees hit the tile, but the sharp pain doesn’t match the gnawing sensation in my stomach. I never throw up; that’s how I know something is wrong. I can walk around with my stomach roiling with nausea, but it never makes me hurl.

I grip the porcelain rim, my knuckles white from the strain. My body heaves with each convulsion, and it’s tearing my insides apart. Bile burns my throat and tongue. All I can taste is marinara, which intensifies my retching.

I’m meticulous with what I eat. I don’t have any other choice. Earlier this morning, I had yogurt and a bowl of fruit. Theo ordered pizza from the new restaurant for lunch, and we snacked on the leftovers throughout dinner. It’s the only outlier, and those assholes got me good.

A moment of reprieve comes, and I gasp for air. Sweat coats every square inch of my body, and my eyes start to water. Squeezing my eyes shut, I beg the universe that this is it, and my stomach will ease now that it’s emptied. But as the room swirls and blurs into white and chrome, the nausea returns but sinks lower and penetrates my muscles.

I flush the toilet, scramble to get my pants off, and sit on the cool seat. The pain radiates and stabs my belly. Each spasm is a torment that leaves me hot and weak. With my arms crossed over my middle, I close my eyes and hand any remnants of control over to my body.

My stomach empties itself, leaving me dizzy. Every cell in my body is trying to fight off the wheat, not knowing it’s damaging itself in the process. Everything hurts. The last time I was this sick was almost a year ago, so it was due time.

It’s fucking endless, and my muscles are protesting, aching from the strain, begging to be freed from this relentless purge. Every fiber of my being is focused on surviving this, waiting for the pain to subside so it can heal. But it will be hours before then, and the prospect makes me whimper.

“Okay, breathe,” I tell myself, relishing in the brief moment of peace.

She’s skin and bones!

I shake my head to try and dislodge her voice.

Two out of three.

I try to breathe and regulate my heart rate. This is far from over, and the last thing I need is Mom’s voice and anxious thoughts.

Nothing but a burden.

Shut up.

I love you.

It’s nothing but lies.

If you loved me, you would respect me!

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