CHAPTER NINETEEN - Buns in the Oven

Blaire

I rushed back to the toilet despite just existing, hunching over the toilet seat to pour my sour guts into the white pit.

As I knelt before the toilet seat, the acrid taste of bile stung the back of my throat. The bathroom tiles, once a soothing shade of blue, now seemed like a never-ending sea of cool relief against my feverish skin.

I retched as more of nothing flew out of my mouth because, thanks to my frequent urge to vomit, I've had nothing stay in my stomach.

I coughed out, nearly choking on the vomit stuck in my throat in my desperate attempts to breathe. My trembling fingers held onto the most I could of the toilet to keep me from falling from the dizziness that brewed.

The constant retching had left my stomach empty, and the dry heaves were becoming more painful with each passing moment.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my left hand, I drew in a deep breath to cork the urge to vomit—or at least hope it got corked—and pressed the back of my right hand to my forehead. A