Page 30 of Code Word

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“Blake.”

I cracked an eyelid, regretting it immediately. “Fuck.”

“Here, sit up,” the voice said, taking my arm and pulling me to sit up.

Christ. Was I on the floor?

My stomach churned and I had to feel my head to make sure there wasn’t a blunt object wedged through my skull.

“Fuuuuuck.”

The voice hummed in disappointment.

I looked up to see who it was.

Becca.

Oh, great.

I didn’t think it was possible to feel worse.

“Jesus Christ, Blake,” she mumbled, then she was gone. I scrubbed my hands over my face, feeling the grit in my eyes, the three-day beard. The desert in my mouth; the pain in my head.

The ache in my heart.

Then Becca was back, handing me a glass of water. Herface was a picture of sadness and pity, and yep, it was somehow possible to feel even worserer.

As a distraction to not look at her, I sipped the water and my stomach lurched. “Oh god,” I mumbled.

Becca took the glass of water and took my hand. She pulled me to my feet and it made me want to puke. “Go shower. Don’t lock the door,” she said, pushing me toward the hall. “In case you pass out or something.”

Christ almighty.

I stumbled into my bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I vomited. And vomited.

And vomited.

I showered sitting on the floor.

I felt like death.

I wondered how it was possible to feel this bad and still be alive.

I sat there until I remembered Becca was downstairs, so I made myself get up. I would have vomited again if it were physically possible.

I was going to shave but couldn’t. Physically could not stand up long enough.

Also couldn’t stand looking at myself in the mirror.

Maddox’s lyrics in “Reflections” ran through my mind.

A stranger stares back at you

The face looks familiar

But the eyes

You don’t recognize the eyes

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