Page 63 of Wreckage of Me
Oliver chuckles and rolls his eyes, completely unamused by our conversation. “The whole fuckin’ house heard you two going at it, Becca.”
My hands are clammy, and I can’t think. The panic attack I felt coming a few minutes ago is about to go off any second now.
“To say I felt humiliated doesn’t begin to cover it,” Oliver continues talking, unaware of how close I am to completely losing my shit. “And if I knew you were into trash like that, I’m not sure I would’ve stuck my tongue in your mouth.”
I stop breathing. Completely. And I think I need to throw up.
I blindly reach for the door handle and pull, but it doesn’t pop open.
“Fuck,” Oliver mutters when I start gagging and gasping for air. I bend over and put my head between my legs just as I hear Oliver exiting his car, then the passenger side door finally opens, and he’s got his hands on my shoulders.
I can’t move to get out of the car though. The sounds coming out of the back of my throat sound awful, and my body is convulsing as it’s preparing itself to expel whatever is causing me to be sick.
Oliver applies more pressure on my shoulders, trying his hardest to force me out of the car.
“Becca, fucking hell,” he yells when I finally let go and throw up all over the floor of his fancy car. “Jesus Christ,” I hear him continuing to complain loudly, no doubt disgusted by the mess I’m making.
The retching sounds coming out of me are grossing me out too. My body feels like I just got run over by a truck. It all hurts like hell.
I finally manage to stop, and I feel pretty confident that nothing else is going to come out of me, not now at least.
“I’m sorry,” I manage to say in a shaky voice. I open my eyes and almost start throwing up again when I see the vomit on the floor. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper again. “I’ll pay to get it cleaned.”
I hear a door closing loudly in the distance, and I really hope it’s not coming from my house, but no such luck.
“What the hell happened?” Colton questions, the worry in his voice obvious. “Is she okay?”
“She’s…” Oliver hesitates. “She got sick,” he points out the obvious like it’s not clear enough from me sitting here with my feet in a puddle of my own vomit.
“Becky,” Colt’s voice sounds so concerned. He hardly ever calls me Becky unless he’s very upset. “Are you okay?”
“I think so,” I mutter. “Can you help me in the house?” I put a shaking hand out for him to help me up. My legs feel like wet noodles, and I almost topple over when I’m finally standing.
“I’ll carry her in,” Oliver puts an arm around me, then the other under my legs, lifting me off the ground. I want to protest, but I don’t have the energy.
The seconds it takes to get from the car to inside the house feel like the longest ever. Colton leads Oliver inside, then up the stairs to where my bedroom is. My head is resting on Oliver’s shoulder, and I feel oddly comfortable like that.
“She needs to clean up,” I hear him telling my brother.
“Her bathroom is through that door,” Colt directs him.
I open my eyes and lift my head off Oliver’s shoulder when he sets me on the bathroom counter.
“I’m okay now,” I mumble just as Oliver starts the shower for me.
“You may have to get in there with your shoes and clothes on,” he tells me in a clinical way, like I’m one of his patients at the hospital. “That way it’ll all rinse off in there before you throw it in the wash.”
I nod in agreement, then hop off the counter, gingerly walking to the shower stall. “I’m really sorry about your car. Please send me the bill for the clean-up,” I tell him in a tired voice.
“We’ll talk about it once you’re cleaned up.” With that, he leaves the bathroom, giving me the space I desperately need right now.
I step into the shower with my clothes on, shivering when it all gets soaked in, in spite of the water being piping hot.
I feel like I’m moving in slow motion when I struggle to pull my top and bra off. The skirt and underwear slide down my body a lot easier, and I feel grateful for the closed top slides I had on my bare feet.
I soap up, but my head is not in it. At some point I wonder if I’m going to throw up again. I scrub more enthusiastically when I reach the bottom of my legs and my feet. They got covered in vomit when I puked in Oliver’s car, and I got this weird sensation on my skin, like I can’t get rid of the yucky feeling of it.
“Becca, are you okay?” Colton calls out over the loud noise of the water running in the shower. “You need anything?”
