Hello :)

Taylor, 18+, any pronouns, yes I made yet another account.

[sickficcity]

excuse me for a moment

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author's note: It's been a while since I've taken a collection of your prompts and written one big story, which is what I did here! I was inspired by six different prompts I received in my inbox, all of which are listed at the end!

I also haven't done a lot of world-building and story-telling and character work in a while, so I wanted to do more here! I feel like we learn a lot about Georgia and Molly and who they are and where they're going here.

Plus don't worry, it's still nearly 25,000 words of my usual fare. It just also has comfort to the hurt, and more story stuff! I hope you like this story!

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Georgia accompanies her coworker, Julian, down to the cafeteria on the bottom floor of their office building. They both work in public relations for the video game company Moonberry; Georgia’s been here about four years now. Julian started two years ago and they placed him at the empty desk across from hers. At first, that had annoyed her. Now, he’s probably her best friend in the office.

“What did you bring today?” he asks as they’re exiting the elevator.

She lifts her lunch cooler bag and rattles it. “Leftover lasagna. I might grab some salad, though.”

“Oh, yes, get in line with me,” Julian encourages him. “They have meatloaf today, I want to get some.”

“You’re willing to eat the meatloaf here?” Georgia asks him. She can’t help how skeptical she sounds.

Julian laughs at her. “They make it fresh. Plus, I like the meatloaf here. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

“Okay,” she says. She does still sound skeptical. It just sounds like asking for a stomachache. She’s suddenly grateful she brought her lasagna from home, if only to avoid the meatloaf here.

In line, Georgia hooks her lunch bag strap over her chest. With her hands free, she’s able to grab a tray and follow after Julian. He takes two slices of the meatloaf from beneath the guards for his tray; he seems to be contemplating a third, so Georgia skips around him to the salad bar. She scoops lettuce onto her tray, adds in small pieces of grilled chicken, a scoop of croutons, and a scoop of shredded parmesan cheese.

At the end of the salad bar, she pumps caesar dressing from the communal pump over her salad until she’s satisfied with it. Beside the station are the sides for the meatloaf. She stops beside them, then takes a scoop of green beans from a tray. Her last addition is two pieces of buttery garlic bread. They’re hot from being under their heat lamp; she hurriedly drops them onto her tray.

“Ready?” Julian asks as he appears beside her. He takes a couple pieces of garlic bread of his own.

“You’re going to give yourself a stomachache,” she tells him as a warning.

“Thanks, Mom.” He pushes her a little towards the cashier. “I can handle it, thank you. You worry about you.”

Georgia snorts. She can’t help it; she’s always worrying about everyone. It’s automatic. She’s been this way since she was four years old and Nate was born. She had been that way before that, in all honesty; she was already trying to look after her parents, even at that young age. A vivid early memory of hers, however, is looking down at newborn baby Nate and telling her new sibling that she would always be there.

She thinks she’s done a pretty good job of that since. She was basically his mother for the majority of their childhood — as well as being Blaine’s, when they were born not long after him. She had been the one who made sure they ate, got them to school, and gave them baths. When Nate transitioned, she helped him through the process. When Blaine did the same, she did the same. They both lived with her when they first moved to New York before Nate moved in with his college boyfriend, Darren, and Blaine found all those roommates to live with — and Diego.

Georgia is still a mother to them in all the important ways. She’s also their big sister, their protector, their biggest supporter — she’s gotten used to being everything. She does it for her friends, too, and her family. It’s always her taking care of everyone else.

Well, if she’s being honest, not always. Though she often finds herself taking care of Molly just out of habit — and because her girlfriend is reckless and exciting at the best of times — Molly also prioritizes taking care of her. It’s the first time she thinks anyone has so consistently taken care of her in her life; she always used to shut it down when Nate or Blaine tried to reverse the dynamic. She insisted it wasn’t their responsibility to look after her. It was the other way around.

The longer she dates Molly, however, the easier she finds it to let her take care of her.

“Hello?” Julian asks her. “Earth to Georgia? Pay for your food?”

She snaps out of her thoughts about her girlfriend and slides up with her tray. Her face burns with a blush as she pays for her food and moves on with Julian.

“Sorry,” she apologizes to him. “I was just thinking about Molly.”

Julian laughs. “Of course you were.”

“Oh, be quiet.” She hands her tray off to him and asks, “Can you find us a table? I’m going to nuke my lasagna.”

“Your wish is my command, my liege,” he answers. He takes the tray from her and heads off for one of the empty tables gathered in the dining area of the cafeteria. Molly heads for the long counter that has a coffee station, utensils, a toaster, and a microwave. She only has to wait for one other person to finish heating up their soup before it’s her turn.

When she opens up her lunchbox, Georgia stops. On top of the Tupperware she had put in here this morning sits a second smaller Tupperware and a little note in the shape of a heart that says: Love you! Have a good day, baby!

Molly’s also shoved a can of Diet Coke in here for her. Georgia’s favorite— and now, she doesn’t even have to go to the vending machine for it. The smaller Tupperware shows a little piece of sheet cake — one of the last that she brought home from a work party as leftovers last week.

While the lasagna is rotating in the microwave, Georgia takes her phone out to text Molly: I love you, too.

She receives a string of hearts in reply. Molly doesn’t have a shift for two days, so she’s been taking advantage of the time off to clean their apartment. They haven’t been living in it together very long. They’ve both been very determined to look out for it; it feels special because it’s theirs.

Her lasagna beeps. Georgia pockets her phone again, scoops up her steaming Tupperware, grabs a fork, and heads off to join Julian at the table he’s chosen. He’s already tucking into his meatloaf with gusto that makes her worry alarms trigger again.

“You’ll definitely give yourself a stomachache if you eat that that quickly,” she comments as she takes her seat.

“I eat way faster than you do,” Julian argues. It’s a fair point; Georgia eats fairly slowly. It’s a habit she developed young. “You’re the one who should be worried. We have that meeting with those developers who made that stupid popular indie game at one. What was it called? Lunar Sprites or something.” He shrugs, then shoves another forkful of meatloaf into his mouth. “They all sound the same.”

“Chew with your mouth closed,” she reminds him absentmindedly. “Crap, we do have that at one.”

“I’m trying to get back upstairs by 12:30 so I have time to prep a little.” Julian shovels in more meatloaf. “Like I said, all these games sound the same. I want to make sure I know what I’m talking about so they’ll actually want to work with us and make us a game that gets that popular.”

Georgia wants that, too. She’s the assistant head of their public relations division at Moonberry, and her supervisor, Markus, has already told her that she’ll be his second-in-command point person for this developer’s work if they accept the offer. That means she’ll be the one doing the media relations, marketing support, coordinating all the community engagement and conversations between the developers and the public. She’ll have to help Markus be the voice and face of whatever game they make.

That is, if they actually agree to make them a game.

“I should do that, too,” she says with a sigh.

“Then start eating,” he instructs her. His mouth is still full of meatloaf, but she thinks her own mouth has more important things to do right now than reminding him again to keep it shut while he chews.

She slides the homemade lasagna out of the Tupperware and onto the empty spot she left on her tray for it. It’s the last piece from a lasagna she had made for herself and Molly a few days ago. They thought they were going to be able to finish it two nights ago. They had even just eaten out of the pan with forks together, not bothering with plates. Instead, they had ended up dithering over the last bit before they wrapped it up and put it away again. She’s glad for it now that she’s watching Julian shovel meatloaf into his mouth that is definitely going to give him some sort of bellyache after.

With a sigh, Georgia digs into her homemade lasagna. The microwave didn’t heat it very evenly; the edges are hot while the center is lukewarm. There’s no time to reheat it, though, and at least it’s got warmth to it and isn’t cold all the way through.

“So,” Julian asks. “Any fun plans with Molly this weekend?”

Molly tells him all about the plans they have scheduled for Saturday and Sunday. It’s only Thursday, but Molly always loves making plans. They’re supposed to be getting brunch on Saturday before going to a farmer’s market. After that, they’re stopping by a bookstore Molly saw online where they can try a make-your-own-tiny-bookstore craft. They have a dinner reserved at an Italian restaurant that night, and the next morning they’re planning to go on a bike ride together before they check out a few antiques stores and then see a movie together. Georgia is planning to make them dinner at home afterwards for them to decompress and enjoy themselves after such a busy, amazing weekend together.

While she tells Julian about their plans, she steadily eats through her meal. The savory, spicy saltiness of the sausage is still tasty, especially when combined with the lasagna noodles, ricotta, and mozzarella. She pierces piece after piece, the cheese stretching out and mingling with the heavy tomato sauce. It’s creamy and slightly sweet and subtly acidic all at once.

The lasagna is a good, heavy lunch. She takes a pause from it to crack open her Diet Coke and sip from it, feeling the carbonation bite through the heavy pasta. The bubbles feel like they clean out her mouth and throat.

She forks up bites of caesar salad in between bites of the lasagna. The cool crunch of the lettuce gives a good contrast to the warm, heavy lasagna. It feels far more balanced in her stomach. She takes another couple sips of soda; they bring up a little bubbly burp that she lets come up, making Julian laugh.

The lasagna is almost gone when she remembers her garlic bread. The edges are crisp and the centers are soft and buttery. Luckily, they’re no longer too hot from being under the heat lamp. Instead, she can enjoy the rich garlic and creamy butter and soft bread together.

The garlic bread is gone in almost a few bites. She alternates with salad and her lasagna again, chewing each bite thoroughly. It’s a little faster than she normally eats, and she does not want a stomachache. She will make sure every bite is chewed and easy to digest in her belly.

When she clears out the lasagna, she turns on the salad again to scoop and scrape up the last of it. Half of her Diet Coke goes down after it, leaving a good third of it left as she turns on her slice of sheet cake dessert. She’s glad they’re finally finishing it off. The container has been taking up a lot of space in their fridge. The chocolate icing is soft and creamy, the raspberry-chocolate cake dense and rich.

She’s almost done with it when she realizes she starts feeling full. It makes sense, since she’s eating faster than she normally does.

“What are you doing this weekend?” Georgia asks. That way, she can focus on finishing her cake and soda as Julian tells her about his plans to go camping with his cousins this weekend. By the time she’s all done and packs away her Tupperwares into her lunch box again, she feels pleasantly full. She must not have eaten as quickly as she thought she did.

Julian checks his watch as he finishes speaking and says, “Hey, look. It’s 12:25.” He crams the last few bites of his salad in and stands up. “Ready to head back upstairs?”

“Sure thing,” she agrees. She rises to her feet at the same time he does. The waistband of her work skirt is a little more compressed against her belly now that she’s filled up with her lunch. She readjusts it over her satisfied stomach as she heads to clear her tray and join Julian on the path back upstairs.

On the elevator ride up, her stomach gives a little rumble as it starts to work on digesting her meal. She just feels full. When she walks to her desk and feels the smallest slosh of her stomach, it’s easy to shrug it off as the beginning of digestion after eating her meal quickly.

“Okay, we have twenty-five minutes,” Julian reminds her.

“Aren’t I your boss?” she comments.

“Doesn’t make me wrong,” he says. Which is true, and so she just laughs and takes her seat at her desk.

Georgia logs back into her computer and navigates to her folders to find the one with her notes for this particular developer. She keeps her eyes on the screen, opens up several documents, and begins refreshing herself on the information in front of her.

A faint gurgle moves through the top of her stomach. Georgia shifts, adjusting her posture to be better for digestion. When she sits up a little more, she can feel her lunch shift inside of her, the heavy lasagna starting to settle down towards the bottom of her stomach — along with everything else.

The documents keep her attention for a few minutes longer before her stomach cramps just a little bit. It’s a very subtle twist that starts low in her gut. She rubs her hand over the spot slowly through her work skirt without even really taking notice. Her stomach does feel a little rounder with her lunch, but all her portions were completely reasonable.

A small burble ripples through the bottom of her tummy. She shifts again in her seat, her stomach feeling a little denser than it normally would be after lunch. It didn’t feel this way two nights ago after she ate the lasagna leftovers — but then, she also had garlic bread and cake today.

Must just have eaten too many heavy things too fast, she tells herself.

Opening the bottom left drawer on her desk, Georgia withdraws a bottle of Tums so she can pop two in her mouth. At the sound of the bottle rattling, Julian raises his head.

“Not feeling good?” Julian asks her.

She waves him off. “It’s just a little indigestion. I think I ate too fast.” Holding the bottle out to him, she asks, “Do you want some?”

“I feel fine,” he tells her. He leans back to pat at his belly; he definitely looks a little full, too, but then, he did have meatloaf for three people. “Stomach of steel, my friend.”

Georgia is reluctant to believe him, but has to take him at his word. The Tums go back into her desk so she can return her focus to her work again. They’ll have to be in the conference room in ten minutes, and she wants to get this right.

A quiet gurgle shifts through her stomach. This one is a little lower and brings up a little bubble that almost makes her burp. Instead, she hiccups, then softly says, “Ugh.”

“Drinking on the job again?” Julian asks without looking up.

“Focus on your work,” she replies. He laughs. She’s glad he knows when not to take her  seriously. People don’t always understand her sense of humor — or her tone.

The small burble of gas that works through the back of her stomach must be the reason that her stomach is feeling a little heavy and compressed. She stretches to arch her back and give herself some more room. The sensation only makes her stomach shift slightly, pressing more tightly into her waistband.

Georgia shifts again in her chair, then again, slightly restless in her attempts to loosen the small bit of pressure that’s starting to twist in her tummy. Another lower gurgle rumbles through her belly, and Julian pokes his head around his computer to look at her.

“Did you say something?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No, I just — was about to stand up, my chair creaked.”

“Oh, okay.” His focus is already on his computer again. Georgia swallows as she clicks on her screen to print out the documents she needs. That way, she can bring them into the meeting for reference — and she can take a walk to the printer to try and settle her stomach a little bit more until the Tums have a chance to work.

As she pushes her chair back and rises to her feet, Georgia realizes her stomach is feeling heavier and denser than it had when they left the cafeteria. It’s like things are compacting in her stomach and sitting there like a huge brick.

Maybe she hasn’t started digesting yet, or it’s just indigestion. Or she did eat too fast —

The printer whirs to life. Georgia makes herself leave her desk and walk towards it. She’s hopeful that the motions will help to soothe the slight shifting of her stomach. She does become more aware of the way she’s become slightly more bloated, her waistband feeling a little more taut against her belly. She wishes she weren’t wearing a pencil skirt and a blouse right now; she could just rub her stomach and try to coax up a burp and be done with this.

She’s far too polite to do that here, though. She thinks to herself, Maybe I can try to use the bathroom before I go to the meeting, as she staples her pages together and looks towards the clock on the wall overhead.

Her face flushes warmly as she realizes it’s 12:54 already. She’s supposed to be in the conference room in one minute.

Taking a slow breath, she tells herself, Okay. Just… bring water with you and excuse yourself if you need a break. People take bathroom breaks. It’s okay.

The motion of walking unfortunately does not seem to have any effect on settling her stomach. When she arrives at her desk again, she’s walking more rapidly to hurry there and open her drawer again, digging out the bottle of Tums again.

“You sure you’re okay?” Julian asks as he signs out of his computer. She takes three more Tums and chews them up. She has to swallow thickly twice to get them down.

“Yeah,” she answers. “Probably just nervous.”

He eyes her suspiciously. She knows why; neither of them could say the last time she was ever nervous for a regular meeting like this one. Still, he lets her alone.

“I’ll save you a seat,” he tells her. After a pause, he suggests, “Try the bathroom?”

She gives him a look. “Now who’s the mom?”

“I told you, I’ll save you a seat,” he says with a fond grin. “You got five minutes, take them. You’re always on time.”

Georgia still hesitates, but Julian makes the decision for her. He snatches her stapled pages out of her hand and says, “These will be there if you use the bathroom first, but I’ll rip them up if you don’t.”

“You wouldn’t,” Georgia replies automatically.

“Try me,” he says. He’s already halfway out the door and heading down the hall to the conference room.

He definitely wouldn’t do it, but Georgia knows that’s not the point. With a sigh, she checks the clock again, then figures it can’t hurt to take advantage of the small gift Julian has given her.

After logging out of her computer, grabbing her water bottle, and pocketing her phone, Georgia heads for the ladies’ room down the hall. There’s nobody inside, leaving all four stalls available. She picks the second one and hurries in, aware she’s on a time limit.

Reaching back, she unzips her skirt and yanks it, her tights, and her panties down. Once she’s sat on the toilet, she unscrews her water bottle, taking a few slow sips.

The water lands in her stomach as if she’d swallowed down huge gulps. It feels strange and the sensation makes her stomach gurgle again.

“Crap,” she curses in a quiet whisper. Screwing the top back onto the bottle, she sets it aside on the floor, then pushes up the tight fabric of her blouse so she can rub over her stomach. She can feel gas moving low in her belly and swelling up under her ribs in slow movements, so she tries to knead at the sides of her tummy to coax it out. She’s a little bit more bloated now, making her feel a slight tightness.

Another gurgle rumbles up as a dull cramp aches low in her abdomen. She feels the burbling moving along the right side of her stomach, so she digs in in harder circles to force it along. The bubbles work up and her stomach twists uneasily. A sensation rises in her throat, a pressure, and she’s able to bring up a belch that’s far thicker than she’s expecting it to be. It tastes strongly of lasagna and sausage, and she swallows thickly before she hiccups.

“Okay, settle down,” she tells her stomach. “The meeting is only two hours. Just gotta make it ‘til 3:00.”

She leans forward to take her phone out of her skirt pocket and check the time.

“Crap,” she curses again. It’s 12:58 already.

Looking down at her stomach, she realizes it’s definitely gotten more bloated since they left the cafeteria. She puts her free hand over the curve of it. She’s not a very big person, and the swell of her stomach feels a little too noticeable now that she’s looking down at it.

Rubbing across her belly again, she coaxes up another burp. The combined taste of ricotta and Tums is not particularly pleasant, and though the water didn’t help much last time, she’d rather clear the taste out of her mouth more than anything else.

She pockets her phone again to take another couple sips of water. They don’t land right, either, bringing up a thin, watery burp — but at least they chase away the acidic taste in her mouth.

Georgia knows she’s out of time now. She wishes something could have come out while she was here, but she’s at least satisfied that she got some gas up. Maybe her stomach will process the Tums now and settle that she’s worked a little bit of the pressure up, and she’ll laugh at herself later for feeling worked up over nothing.

“Just focus on the meeting,” she tells herself. “And get through the next two hours. You can do this.”

Her stomach gives an uneasy gurgle as if in response. She gives it a soft pat, bringing up a small burp with it, making her grimace. It feels firm and swollen inside her belly, as if things are trying to press outwards, but when she kneads her knuckles above her navel, it feels soft and rumbly.

“Okay,” she says again. “You can do this.”

She takes one last sip of her water and gulps down a few swallows of air. Her stomach rolls and gives a faint, watery burble before a bubble of pressure swells upwards. She massages firmly along the sides of her belly, pushing at the pressure, forcing it further up until she’s bringing up a huge belch that feels bigger than her. It echoes off the tiles in the empty bathroom and feels gross at the end, making her swallow thickly.

It does give her stomach a little relief, though. A good amount of pressure came out with that. She’s not sure the last time she burped like that; her face is hot just thinking about it, embarrassed even though there’s nobody here to hear her.

One last small burp rumbles up out of her as she stands and pulls everything back up. Bringing her panties and pantyhose over her belly isn’t particularly comfortable, and neither is pulling her blouse back down, but pulling her skirt up over her tummy and reaching back to zip it up and hook it closed again does not feel good at all.

“Just get through it,” she reminds herself. She pats to check for her phone, tucks her water bottle under her arm, and flushes the toilet even though nothing actually came out of her in that direction. When she’s at the sink in the bathrooms, she can tell she looks flushed, her cheeks redder than normal.

She washes her hands as thoroughly as she can, then splashes a little cold water on her face and shakes it off, glad that her makeup is waterproof. After a few deep breaths, and a sip of water from the sink, and a moment to tuck a couple stray locks of her dark hair back into one of the two buns neatly twisted on either side of the nape of her neck, she pulls herself together.

When she joins the conference room meeting, she’s not even the last person to come in. She gives a nod towards Markus on the other side of the table, then speeds next to Julian and takes the chair he’s saved for her, dropping down into it, setting her water bottle on the table.

“How you feeling?” he asks her once she’s sitting.

“I told you, I’m fine,” she reminds him.

“Mmhm, sure you are.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box of TicTacs, shaking them at her. “Want one?”

She pauses, then holds her palm out. He spills two into it. Georgia neatly places one TicTac on the table next to her water bottle for later before popping the other in her mouth.

“I can give you more TicTacs,” Julian points out with a laugh.

“I have more,” she says, with a wave at the one she’s saved. He just shakes his head as the last person comes in and sits down. “Now, shh, pay attention.”

Most of what hers, Julian’s, and Markus’s job is at these meetings is to pay attention. They have to see what the developers are like. They need to know these people well enough to sell them in marketing — and to sell their own company to them in return as needed.

Julian and Markus are clearly doing what they’re supposed to do. Their eyes are up. They’re scribbling on their notes. They’re paying full attention.

Georgia is good at her job, so she is paying a good amount of attention. She takes a pen and scribbles her own notes. There are at least a dozen people in here seated around their longest conference table. A few more are standing and starting their presentation up at the front of the conference room. She can just blend in with the crowd, hope that her Tums will kick in and her stomach will settle soon, and get through this meeting.

Her conference room chair isn’t the most comfortable chair in the world. It feels extra uncomfortable today, though. She’s having trouble not fidgeting restlessly in her seat. She keeps having to make herself be still before she even starts moving. Her stomach feels like it’s pressing outward a bit and compressed a bit more, compacted by her angle in the chair. It’s not like she can keep squirming around, though.

Gas shifts upwards from the pit of her stomach after a few minutes and rises rapidly into her throat. She presses the back of her hand lightly against her lips and swallows back two burps, one after the other. The lingering mint in her mouth mingles with the taste of garlic and sausage.

A gurgle runs through her belly, the sound louder than she expects it to be. She sits up straighter, trying not to seem obvious as she looks around to see if anyone noticed. Luckily, nobody is even glancing in her direction.

Sitting up like she is makes her stomach sit in her lap as much as her tight skirt will allow. A slow, wet churn rolls deep through her lower gut, which is feeling heavier by the moment. The sensation of a huge brick sitting in her belly has returned; the relief from the bathroom is mostly gone. She checks the clock overhead and it’s only 1:15 so far.

Georgia casually lets her free hand fall down so her arm can curl loosely over her middle. Her hand can’t be seen beneath the table, so she slowly rubs her stomach over her clothes. Her belly presses out a little bit over her skirt waistband. She takes a slow breath as another gurgle brings a bloat of pressure spreading upwards that she has to swallow back again.

The next few minutes are not too bad. Her stomach rumbles quietly once, but even she can’t hear it. Her lunch feels like it’s just not sitting right, still so heavy and unmoving in her unsettled tummy. It’s making her feel a little warm as she adjusts her posture mindlessly again.

A brief cramp tightens through the center of her belly, then releases after a moment. Her brow furrows a little as she settles in her seat again.

I just ate too fast, she tells herself in her own head. It’s just indigestion. Let the Tums work.

A hollow gurgle moves through her stomach. She takes a sharp breath that only Julian seems to notice. He glances back at her with a confused tilt of his head, but she shakes her own in a tiny movement, and he looks forward again.

Another cramp tightens her tummy. It feels like it’s clenching right in the middle of the sack of cement sitting motionless inside her. A flash of acid comes up, a little bit of reflux rising to fill her throat and make her chest burn. She swallows it down, shifting slightly, her hand on her belly kneading a little harder.

She just has to start digesting. Once things start moving through her, she’ll start feeling better. She just needs her stomach to actually settle and get going on processing lunch.

Georgia reaches forward to pick up her water bottle, taking a small sip to clear the sour taste from her mouth. Another rumble moves through her lower belly, and a cramp twists just below her navel. She almost feels like she has to fart for a second before the feeling passes, gurgling back upwards into her belly.

A faint queasy flutter feels like it tickles at the back of her throat. She swallows down one more gulp of water to chase it away before setting the bottle down again. The water slides down into her belly with a slight cramp in the middle of her abdomen, but nothing moves this time. She counts that as a win.

The discomfort in her stomach makes her feel like it’s somehow just forgotten how to digest. There’s an ache gathering low in her belly. It feels like everything is just sitting there. She didn’t even eat that much, and yet she feels like she swallowed a huge rock. There’s no sensation of digestion at all yet. Maybe the Tums —

She looks towards the clock again, kneading the cramp below her navel to try and help it loosen a little. It’s 1:25. The Tums should have started working long before now.

Maybe I just need the full hour, she tells herself. It can take that long. The bottle says so. She’s trying to reason with herself. I just ate too fast. It’s just indigestion. Just give it a chance to start digesting and you’ll be fine.

Her lunch just feels so heavy sitting in her stomach. When she strokes her hand in slow circles over the swollen front of her belly underneath the table, she feels another low gurgle squirm through her stomach, pushing through a queasy feeling that she doesn’t like.

Her fingers dig in tightly to her stomach automatically when it rumbles again as if to silence or calm it through sheer force of will. Her stomach gives a strange lurch that forces her to swallow. It’s accompanied by a cramping twist of her stomach that feels too tight. A slow churn rolls up heavily from the cramps below her belly button, bubbling into her chest with an acidic, pressurized burn. Acid still licks at the back of her throat, feeling like it’s in her spit as she swallows it back.

She knows indigestion. She gets indigestion. She’s starting to think this isn’t indigestion. Or at least that it’s not just indigestion, since she definitely doesn’t feel like she’s digesting right — or at all.

The fear that has been creeping in the back of her mind suddenly comes to the front of it: the fear that something she ate specifically isn’t actually sitting right in her stomach.

Her throat tightens a little. It’s slightly harder to swallow, though she does anyway, three times. Each one feels thicker than the last.

A gurgle of pressure works through the unmoving brick in her tummy. She was to swallow back another hot, sour burp, flooding her mouth with the sour taste of her lasagna. Georgia makes herself swallow again. Something bubbles in her belly when she does. She can’t stop the little air that rushes up, but she is able to muffle it into silence with her hand. Her mouth tastes like Diet Coke and Tums mixing with that previous sour-lasagna taste.

Gas shifts in her stomach. Her heart is starting to pick up a little bit. The room is cool with indoor air conditioning, but she feels overheated anyway. Sweat beads along her hair as heat flashes across her chest and through her stomach and up her throat. It’s impossible to focus on the presentation at the front of the room as her stomach groans, uncomfortable and distressed, and Georgia shifts in her chair to cover the noise. It’s like her stomach can’t decide whether it wants to hold everything in place, start moving it through her, or eject it from body immediately.

This can’t be just indigestion. She wishes it was just indigestion. Something definitely isn’t sitting right in her belly. Her tummy is actually starting to ache uneasily, her lunch lodged in her instead of digesting. She’s actually starting to have a little bit of an upset stomach, but she doesn’t know what would be unsettling her belly like this.

Leaning a little closer to Julian, she whispers, “Hey.” Julian glances back at her. She keeps her voice as low as she can. “Are you feeling… anything?”

His brow furrows as he shakes his head. His whisper is quiet, too. “No. Are you?”

If he isn’t feeling the way she is after he had everything she had, except for the fact that he had meatloaf and she had lasagna and cake from home, then she could start to guess what it is that could be upsetting her stomach.

Another roll gurgles through her belly with a faint squelch. Julian’s eyebrows raise.

“Answers that.” He looks to the front of the room again. “Just go to the bathroom. It’s fine.”

Georgia shakes her head. She never takes sick days. She always pays attention. Her job is to show up and help out and pay attention to everything and everyone else.

“It’ll pass,” she whispers. She leans back in her chair after, ending the conversation. Though she can feel Julian’s eyes on her a moment longer, he gives up when she won’t look back at him.

Turning her chair more inwards toward the table, Georgia puts her hand back on her stomach. It feels like her lunch is still just sitting there, making her belly feel overly full and packed even though she didn’t eat that much. The muscles low in her abdomen clench, pushing a slow churn rolling through her belly again. That’s where she tries to rub now, stroking her hand in hard presses back and forth right over her navel.

A watery gurgle growls low through her belly. She pushes her hand into the spot as if she can silence it and keeps her eyes focused ahead, swallowing over and over.

Her eyes dart to the clock again. It’s only 1:43, she notices with a frown. It feels like it’s been six hours since she sat down somehow, every minute feeling drawn out by the increasing upset in her belly.

She reaches forward to pick up her water bottle again. Her focus is pretty much all off the presentation now. She’s going to have to copy Julian’s notes later and have him fill her in as best as he can. She’s more focused on getting her lunch to work through her stomach.

Another swell of pressure and nausea rolls through her belly, making her muscles clench. Her lower abdomen cramps hard, right at the bottom of the curve of her swollen belly, and she curls forward a little in response. She lets out a slow breath as a series of bubbles feel like they pop across the front of her swollen stomach. A churn gurgles upwards; she brings her hand holding her pen quickly to her mouth to stifle the burp before it can come out of her. She can tell it wouldn’t have been quiet.

She forces it back down. The taste of sour lasagna is once again filling her mouth, but she can’t figure out why. It tasted fine going in.

A flutter of nausea ripples through her abdomen. It’s followed by a thick, low rumble right under her navel that makes her stomach flip. She tightens her lips together. Her hand pushes harder right above her navel instead. Her heavy belly just feels like it stirs, twisting with another rolling churn as it feels like the food inside actually starts to loosen.

Georgia experiences a brief moment of mental relief. She keeps up the movements of her hand on her belly, stroking hard back and forth to try and encourage her tummy to continue along this path and digest already. If it’s moving, at least it’s doing something. A burbling sensation ripples through her stomach, unsettling the sack of cement.

Her stomach turns over itself again, then again. It’s like a huge bowl of dough being folded over and over for bread. She can feel her lunch slosh with the beginning stirrings of movement, though she doesn’t appreciate the way that she still feels a tight bubbling run through her tummy with another queasy cramp.

A low rumble stirs her lower belly. It gives a sick, heavy twist as the dense mess of her lunch inside her knotted her tummy up, then churned in a wave of squirming pressure. Her abdomen muscles all clench again as a hollow growl snarls through her stomach.

A few people sitting near her actually turn to look at her. Her face burns with illness and humiliation both, her hand still clutching her belly beneath the table.

Markus leans across the table and whispers, “Are you okay, Georgia?”

Georgia nods quickly. She’s so embarrassed, she wishes she could just hide under the table. “Yeah, just — hungry. I skipped breakfast and lunch.”

It’s a blatant lie, but it’s not like Markus was at lunch with her and Julian.

“Make sure you eat something after this,” Markus tells her. He’s a nice guy, looking out for her. He doesn’t mean to make the thought of eating something make her stomach lurch under her hand.

She wishes that was the truth, though. If she hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch, her stomach wouldn’t be happy with her, but it definitely wouldn’t be as upset as it’s getting right now. Something feels really wrong, definitely not sitting right. She thinks it has to be the lasagna that’s making her stomach act up, since it’s all she can taste with the next burp that rumbles up and she forces herself to swallow back.

When she turns back around, Julian is looking right at her with suspicion. She motions for him to turn around again too, but he only frowns at her. He’s the only one who knows she did eat lunch, and that she’s not feeling too well now. Only she knows what she had for breakfast, though she’s regretting her mug of coffee and plate of bacon and eggs now when her lower belly rumbles again.

Georgia is just burning with humiliation and shame. Now that her stomach has started to move, she sort of wishes it had just stayed in an unmoving brick for the rest of the meeting. At least that had been much stiller and quieter.

Now, she feels like it’s really starting to churn. A sharp gurgle forces its way through the heaviness low in her gut. She wants to clutch her belly, but she can’t without everyone noticing exactly what’s wrong with her.

Julian jerks his head in the direction of the door. Georgia shakes her head again, frowning, so embarrassed she thinks she could die. Her stomach flips again before an unsettled wave rolls through it, shifting the heavy mass inside of her in another churn. It stays quiet this time at least, and Julian sighs before turning away again.

Again, Georgia grabs her water bottle. After taking a breath, she sips down a few slow, tiny swallows of cool water to try and cool herself down and help settle her stomach. She also reaches out and pops the second mint in to try and help, too.

Her queasy stomach turns over itself once more. With the increasing movement, the pressure feels worse. She chances rubbing over her navel again under the table, but the bloat feels like it shifts upwards and downwards at the same time before an angry snarl curls through the center of her swirling stomach. It’s not audible enough for anyone to look at her this time, but it hurts her stomach badly, making her bellyache deepen with a harsh lurch.

A cold sweat breaks out under her arms and along the back of her neck. Her mouth keeps watering even though her throat feels dry. Swallowing is getting harder, and Georgia’s jaw is tight. A rumbling burp forces itself upward, and she clenches her teeth as she swallows it back harshly before it can come out. It feels like the pressure bursts in her belly when it goes back down, making another gurgle roll through it.

Georgia looks to the clock again. Surely the meeting is almost over by now.

It’s 2:01. She feels like she wants to cry. Her stomach is rapidly starting to revolt against her. She doesn’t know the last time she felt so sick, and it’s been less than two hours since she ate her lunch. She doesn’t know if she can actually make it another hour without something happening.

Her body seems to still be deciding what that something will be. Cramps and pressure gurgle upwards and downwards all at once. Nausea is spreading and deepening throughout her entire belly as a churn has her stomach lurching upwards inside her again. She can feel it move under her hand, a gurgle that ripples beneath her palm before the whole mass of her tummy tries to heave towards her throat.

She takes a deep breath, letting her hand come to rest against the curved lower swell of her tummy as her guts grumble. Nausea growls quietly through her. Luckily, it seems to be more felt than heard. She’s getting more nervous that it’s just going to keep getting worse — which means it’ll keep getting louder. It’s the last thing she wants.

When her tummy sloshes, churning in a wave, she changes her mind. That’s the second to last thing she wants. The absolute last thing she wants is to get sick.

A restless rumble rolls uneasily from below her navel and up towards her throat. Nausea spirals through her as her lower belly cramps, muscles seize, and her tummy writhes inside of her.

Her stomach pitches upwards again, rising into her throat. It’s an effort not to burp as pressure growls through her and her lunch tumbles over and over itself inside her belly. She swallows compulsively and as silently as she can as the contents of her stomach fold over each other in a nauseating, unending tossing.

A noisy, sharp gurgle shoots up the back of her belly to her throat. Exhaling softly, she barely has enough time to cover her mouth again before a burp rumbles up after it. It almost fully belches out. She’s just barely able to stifle it as a strange little snarl in the back of her throat as she gulps and forces it back down.

Georgia’s leg starts jiggling under the table of its own accord. Another burp tries to force its way upward right after it, her stomach clenching hard before it rolls in a heavy lurch that moves upwards. At the same time, it shifts and jerks downward, her guts gurgling as the contents of her tummy heave again. It feels like they’re pitching back and forth in her abdomen, swirling in her belly with another low growl.

She presses her fist against her forehead for a moment before she lifts her head again and makes herself stare forward. The clock only reads 2:13. She has to make it 47 more minutes. She doesn’t think she can make it that long. Her stomach is starting to hurt so much, so so much, sloshing in nauseating waves as it clearly decides it won’t — or that it can’t — process what she’s eaten for lunch.

A wave of pressure bloats downwards. Gas burbles through Georgia’s guts, cramping painfully as she feels a rush of sloshy, bubbling liquid gurgle just under her navel. When her stomach rolls again, she feels a wash of dread at the realization that she’s got to do something or she’s definitely going to be sick one way or the other.

Shifting in her seat manages to push her closer to the table. She takes advantage of the cover to slouch a little in her seat and try to take pressure off of her stomach. The waistbands of her skirt, tights, and underwear feel like they’re splitting her stomach in half. She wishes she could pull them under the bloated swell of her stomach so badly to give it more room, but she knows she’d be too obvious if she did. Her blouse isn’t long enough and she doesn’t have a large blazer or cardigan or anything to cover herself up if she did.

At this angle, she can rub her hand up over the top curve of her bloated belly. It growls under her hand before she pushes hard into the ripple accompanying it that moves right under her hand. Instead, it then forces itself back into her belly and makes it churn over itself. Her stomach is so upset it feels like her whole abdomen has become a wretched storm. It rolls with fury, then twists as if it’s a cloth being wrung out before pressure bursts through her lower gut and upwards under her hand over her upper belly at the same time.

Her hand flattens over her stomach as the cramps intensify within seconds. Her whole belly feels like it churns at once, and she has a sharp burp of thick acid coming up that she has to force back down as her lunch repeats on her. Her mouth tastes once again like sour lasagna as her stomach burbles and she digs her fingertips into the side of her belly, rubbing hard up and down under the table. The center of her stomach groans before it clenches with a nauseating cramp.

The Diet Coke is making the sloshing in her belly fizzy while the water makes the whole mess inside her liquidy and gurgling. Another rumble ripples through her belly before she feels it gurgle under her hand as it moves through her lower tummy. She tries to massage into it as it burbles through into her guts. If she were more optimistic, she’d hope that this would mean she’s digesting — but things are moving too fast and too painfully. Her stomachache is becoming more severe by the second as her body rejects and revolts against everything she’s eaten.

When she tries to help her digestion however, she only manages to make her guts feel bloated and upset. They burn, grumbling, and she feels like she has to fart again — only she doesn’t trust that it would just be that. Every little churn in her stomach feels like it’s going to make her explode one way or the other.

Her belly feels like it’s about to burst. Her guts are sloshy with thick liquid gurgling downwards as her stomach rumbles near her colon, a dense pressure in her lower tummy. Higher up she can feel a heavy churning that won’t stop rolling deep in her upper belly, right under her ribs. It feels like it’s starting to heave up towards her chest. A thick whine grumbles through the center of her stomach that has her fingers tightening and kneading deeper.

One hollow hiccup comes up, followed by a sour burp that she forces back down with a soft, pained breath. Her mouth is flooded with bitter saliva and the disgusting lasagna taste. She can feel her stomach moving so much more by the second. She’s terrified that it’s going to become obvious soon to everyone else in the room. The low growls and angry snarls are getting louder every moment.

The clock says that it’s only 2:26. There’s no way she’s going to make it. She’s running out of time before her stomach is fully out of her control.

When Georgia reaches for her water bottle this time, she realizes her hand is shaking. Her grip on her water bottle is weak. She needs to put down her pen to pick it up in both hands and take a sip that barely makes it down. It hits her stomach like a rock, making it roil over itself, refusing to settle as her stomach pitches and then heaves upwards again.

Lower in her belly, she feels another hard cramp clench her guts. A watery gurgle rumbles through her before her stomach lurches again with a sudden, sloshy, nauseating heaviness. It flips again, twists again, and then burbles thickly just behind her ribs. Her nausea is eating her alive, consuming her every thought and emotion.

Underneath her hand, a strange flutter ripples violently enough that she can feel it strongly through her clothes and her skin. The next queasy shift of her belly makes it feel like everything inside her belly is throwing together now, churning over and over and over. She accidentally thinks of what she ate as she tastes it again. It makes her stomach turn to think of the garlic bread and the caesar salad, the chocolate cake and the Diet Coke. She even doesn’t like remembering her coffee and bacon and eggs from this morning. The worst of all is the lasagna that’s turning her stomach so badly. Just the thought of it feels like a threat and the heavy weight in her stomach drops. Her nausea spikes and sharpens as a hollow twist has her stomach flipping again.

A gurgling slosh rips its way through her bowels. Pressure gathers heavily in her guts with a disgusting, thick rumble. All her skin prickles as her nausea spreads as a sick belch tries to force its way upwards. Her angry belly is apparently telling her that it’s getting ready for things to start coming out.

Georgia’s lunch sloshes in her tummy before a low, angry gurgle glorps through her. Her stomach is so heavy and so upset. It just won’t stop moving. Her food inside her has become one horrible, chunky swamp that won’t stop churning over and over itself in a storm in her tummy. She tries to massage her belly in a bid for digestion that’s growing helpless and desperate before a very low, very wet growl pushes up towards her throat. Her stomach sloshes ominously as she tastes lasagna again heavily in the back of her throat. It’s furious. She’s not sure she’s ever felt this sick before in her life.

Another gurgle moves through her stomach. This one is audible again. Her brow furrows as she rubs hard at the gurgle, whispering “No” softly, but it’s followed by a huge, loud, sick rumble that everyone in the room can probably hear. A deep cramp growls hollowly and angrily through her entire stomach, from the pit upwards in a ripple through her bloated, churning belly under her hand.

“Georgia, are —” someone starts to say before her stomach lurches violently upwards and snarls with a growl so loud the whole room goes quiet. She burns with humiliation, but she can’t focus on anything like embarrassment or dignity anymore as her lower guts grumble noisily and a nauseating belch rumbles thunderously up through her stomach and bursts out of her mouth.

“Excuse me for a moment,” she chokes out as she jumps to her feet. The movement causes an aggressive internal flip of her stomach as she clutches it hard in one hand and clamps her hand over her mouth with the other as she bolts for the door.

Her stomach is gurgling so angrily she thinks she’s going to vomit through her fingers. She can barely see, stumbling down the hallway in the direction of the bathrooms again. Inside her, her tummy lurches upwards, and she belches deeply and disgustingly, tasting nothing but lasagna. It turns wet and thick at the end, filling her mouth with a heavy mouthful of sausage chunks and cheesy vomit that she has to swallow back down with a loud groan.

She doesn’t even know if she sees anybody on the way. All her focus is on getting to the bathroom in time. The pressure in her belly swells as her lower guts grumble again. With every dizzy step, her stomach lurches. The gurgles are turning more frantic and urgent and nauseating, moving in both directions as the urgency to get everything out of her spikes and collides in her stomach.

It’s the worst pain she thinks she’s ever felt in her stomach before. A furious, liquidy gurgle erupts deep inside her tummy and sends sloshing rumbles downwards and burbling pressure upwards.

Her guts clench and she feels the bubbling in her intestines. She whispers, “No, no, no,” as she slams through the bathroom door, everything in her belly trying to bolt upwards and downwards at once again. It’s a near thing, but she just barely manages to force it back down before a meaty belch gurgles out of her and nearly has her vomiting on the bathroom floor.

The door to the second stall she had used earlier is open. Georgia slams through it and braces herself with one hand on the toilet seat as the door swings shut behind her. Another disgusting burp pours out of her as she curls forward over the toilet bowl, still standing up, knees bent, clutching her rolling stomach. It churns angrily inside her, forcing through another burbling growl before she belches thickly again, then again, feeling her stomach undulate under her hand.

“Please, just come up,” she begs her belly. It won’t stop gurgling now, churning over and over with noisy rumbles and upset, bubbling squelches that constantly turn her stomach as everything she ate revolts. Another burp spills out and she groans at the wave of nausea that accompanies it before it’s followed by another, then another.

Even though it’s gross, she can’t move. Her hand just grips the toilet seat as she hovers over it, belches pouring out of her one after the other with each slosh of her stomach. Inside, her furious belly heaves before a thunderous growl surges through it and she bows her head with a deep, disgusting belch that makes her gag. All she can taste is lasagna as she retches and burps again, her whole stomach bubbling and lurching upwards under her hand.

Tears start pouring down her face, her sinuses running and saliva dripping from her mouth. She spits a mouthful of sour spit into the toilet and groans before burping thickly again, then again. A low snarl swirls through her guts before the chunky mess storming inside her heaves upwards again with a dizzying wave of pressure and a meaty burp into the water.

She has to spit again. There’s no way she can swallow any more.

There’s a knock at the door to the women’s room. Georgia moans, burps, then groans out, “Go away.”

“Can I come in?” Julian asks.

“No,” Georgia chokes out before she belches deeply again. A pained whimper comes out of her before another string of belches follows, and she moans, crouching lower to the toilet, trying to stroke her unsettled stomach as it pushes another upset churn through it and she has to belch again.

Lower, her intestines gurgle. Right below her navel, a thick burble rushes through her guts, and she farts loudly and wetly before she can stop herself. She groans, pathetic and low, before she burps into the water again. Her waistbands are infuriating her belly as they compress the snarling storm inside, but she can’t move enough to take anything off. Though she moves her hand to try to rub under her navel and try instinctively to calm it, she knows she’s not going to win this.

“Please?” Julian asks as Georgia belches up a frothy burp and a thin trickle of acidic saliva. Another burp and something in her belly pulls, forcing up a dribble of red-tomato-sauce-tinged spit that retches out of her, trickling into the toilet. Her whole stomach lurches upwards at the feeling and she groans before burping again, then again, noisy gurgles accompanying each roll of pressure and wave of nausea.

She can’t even answer him. She just sniffles, spits, and moans as another string of queasy, rumbling burps spill from her lips along with the saliva, each burp accompanying a furious snarl of her stomach.

The loudest, most ominous growl yet snarls through the pit of her belly before it rises upwards. She can feel everything in her stomach slosh as it violently flips and then surges up, and she curls forward over the toilet as she belches deeply. It’s a long, low, grating burp that turns wet at the end as her stomach lurches under her hand and she gags, bringing up a small, chunky mouthful from her stomach that she retches into the toilet.

Her eyes are watering horribly. When she blinks, she can see chewed-up chunks of her lasagna floating in the toilet with a little bit of thick liquid vomit swirling around it, and she gags again, then again before she manages to bring up another gurgling burp and another little wave of sludgy, lumpy vomit.

She jumps slightly when the door behind her swings open and a hand touches her back.

“This is the women’s room,” she groans before she belches again, vomit and spit hanging from her lips in strings. “Get out.”

“And leave you all alone? No thanks.” Julian rubs her back. “Wanna kneel down? I can call Molly to come get you if you want.”

Georgia shakes her head and the room spins. With a groan, she closes her eyes. Julian helps her lower down to her knees. She keeps her eyes shut as she braces her forearm on the rim of the toilet seat, her forehead falling against her wrist so she can hover over the water. Her hand still clutches her stomach, unable to let it go as it keeps rumbling angrily inside of her.

“Don’t —” She brings up a disgusting, burbling burp that fizzes with carbonation from her Diet Coke. “Don’t bother her.”

He snorts. “I don’t think she’d be bothered by this. From what I know, she’d much rather be with you while you’re sick.”

“But why am I sick?” Georgia moans into the toilet water. “Why aren’t you sick? You ate three of those gross meatloaf slices — Oh, crap —”

The thought of the meatloaf has her stomach rolling over itself in a loud, nauseating churn that seems like it’ll never stop gurgling. The rumbling and burping and swirling in her belly just won’t stop, and she can’t help the next series of burps that come pouring out, getting wetter and thicker with each one.

Julian leans over her. “Looking at that, I’ll guess it’s your lasagna that isn’t sitting right?” The mention of her lasagna makes her moan before a heavy belch that tastes thickly of exactly that sour lasagna bursts out of her. A smaller burp follows with a nauseating rumble through her belly, and she gags, then coughs, trying to bring something up. “Thought it might be. Just get it up.”

“I want to, I —” The sick churning in her stomach won’t stop as a huge, hollow growl rumbles thunderously under the non-stop burbling gurgles. Julian rubs her back for her before he starts patting it right in the middle a little too hard.

Her stomach squelches, sloshing loudly as it churns and lurches up under her hand. Everything surges upwards as she belches and her throat opens, retching into the water and bringing up a massive wave of chunky vomit.

“Oh.” Julian keeps patting her back. “Oh. Well. There we go.”

A loud, nasty snarl tears through her insides. She jerks upwards to grip the toilet in both hands and keep herself steady as another fountain of sludgy puke pours out of her and into the toilet. It’s like she barely needs to put any effort into actually vomiting. Her body just does it for her, forcing up another huge belch before her guts grumble angrily again.

“I —” Georgia starts to say. She moans into the toilet before another burp falls out of her. Inside, her stomach has a strange glorping sensation deep in the pit of her belly, followed up with a gurgling, glugging series of pops that move through her lower tummy. A laborious churn rolled through her, gurgling queasily, bringing up a heavy, watery burp.

Her stomach hitches and she prepares for another wave of vomit. A few deep burps pour out of her, intercut with her nauseated moans, before she hiccups and brings up a gurgling belch of stomach contents. It’s thick coming up, forcing her to cough and retch to pull it out of her and into the toilet.

Just as she’s adjusting to try and clutch her stomach again, a heavy, squelching grumble burbles its way through her lower stomach. She can feel gurgling rushing through her guts.

“Get out,” she repeats, shooting upwards and slamming the flush on the toilet. Seeing the swamp of her vomit swirling down the drain makes her gag again, but she can’t focus on that right now.

“Georgie, hold —”

“Get out!” She pushes him towards the door with one hand as she yanks at her skirt’s zipper with the other. Julian seems to get the message and slips out the door. He holds it shut for her as she pulls down her zipper. Her skirt, pantyhose, and underwear all come down next.

Georgia plants herself on the toilet and hunches over her bloated belly. It feels huge as she grabs it in both hands, stroking across it furiously, but it’s no use. Her guts gurgle thickly again before it feels like an explosion of diarrhea erupts out of her ass. Her stomach rumbles before she pushes out a disgusting, loud, wet fart and then shits again, her guts turning to water as burbling stomach contents rush through her bloated, cramping lower belly.

“I’m calling Molly,” Julian tells her from the other side of the door.

Georgia doesn’t have it in her to protest again. She’s shaking like a leaf and nowhere near done getting sick. And if this is food poisoning upsetting her stomach, which she now very much believes it is, it won’t be over any time soon. She can’t drive herself home, but she definitely can’t stay here.

Her stomach groans at the same time Georgia groans. It aches so badly she can’t honestly believe it’s possible without dying. With a low moan, she whines, then belches again, sighs, and burps. A hollow growl rolls deeply through her gut, and she curls forward over her stomach, clutching it in both hands and trying to rub it slowly. It won’t calm down, but she doesn’t know what else to do.

When her tummy cramps again, she barely has time to brace herself before another rush of diarrhea forces itself through her and out of her. A sick belch rolls up as her bowels spasm, and then her tummy heaves upward, forcing out a heavy, nauseating belch that almost becomes solid.

“Oh, no, no,” she whimpers. She can’t stop shitting. It won’t stop coming. There’s no way she can get off the toilet right now as the nauseating diarrhea keeps pouring out of her in chunky liquid wave after wave.

Georgia rubs desperately at her sick tummy as tears keep streaming down her face. A heavy burp rolls out of her, then another, and she moans. There’s no trash can in the stall, and she can’t move. She can’t get up, but —

“No,” she groans as the next frothy burp rumbles out of her. It turns thick and solid at the end, and she clamps her hand over her mouth. She forces the vomit back down with a gurgling gulp and a gag, but it won’t be forced. The hand rubbing her belly feels the way her stomach hitches, rumbles, then lurches upward at her attempt.

She can’t hold it back this time. Her next belch brings up vomit she can’t hold in. The liquid spills through her fingers as she sobs, the chunks catching on her palm. When she pulls her hand away from her face, her stomach surges upwards with a flip and a nauseating glorp again. She can’t control it as she clutches her swirling tummy, retches, and vomits down her front, over her belly, and into her own lap.

“Oh, no, Georgie,” Julian says from the other side of the door. “Molly’s phone is ringing right now, just hold it in —”

Georgia can’t catch a breath to tell him that’s not going to happen. This time, when her stomach pitches itself towards her throat, she heaves forward and projectile vomits across herself and onto the floor. Her clothes are soaked with the hot, sludgy stew of her lunch, making her shiver and burp up another trickle as her bowels open up again. She can’t stop shivering and shaking, her whole body so weak she has to tilt sideways to press her head against the wall of the stall to hold herself up.

“Yeah, hi? Molly, hi, it’s Julian from Georgia’s office,” he says on the other side of the door. Georgia groans before she bends over her lap again. She tries to rub her belly, but feeling herself smear her thick, cooling vomit across her stomach just makes her nausea spike, and she heaves up another loud, burbling wave of chunks and heavy liquid onto the floor. “Holy shit — Yeah, that was Georgia. I think she has food poisoning. We just had lunch and she’s been off ever since. I could hear her stomach growling the whole time we were in the meeting, and now she’s… Um…” Julian pauses as Georgia opens her mouth and just lets the sickness burp up and pour out of her, her back arching and shoulders twitching as another bellyful of puke falls onto the floor. Her throat burns. “She’s really, really sick. Can you maybe bring clothes for her, too? And… Maybe a towel or something.” He is quiet for another moment. “Okay. See you then.”

Despite how much keeps coming out of her, Georgia still feels so impossibly, nauseatingly full. Her stomach snarls before she groans and sniffles before belching deeply again.

“Hey, Molly said she’ll be here in fifteen minutes,” Julian says from the other side of the door. “Can I get you anything? Water? Do you want me to stay?”

Georgia is so sick, and so humiliated, she doesn’t want anyone to see her, not even her work best friend. She feels a wave of horrible embarrassment and distress wash over her just before she starts to sob. She just feels so sick.

“Oh, oh, it’s okay,” Julian says. He’s trying to be comforting, but Georgia can’t stop the crying now that it’s started. “Everybody gets sick. We’re just worried about you.” When Georgia still can’t respond, hiccuping sobs that only make her queasy stomach churn more angrily, he says, “Okay. I’m going to go tell Markus you’re going home and wait for Molly so I can bring her to you. And I’ll tell a janitor to wait for my signal. Okay?”

A weak laugh cuts through Georgia’s sobbing. Her stomach gurgles with it and she burps again. All she can taste is vomit. It’s just her lunch in her mouth, barely-digested, all caesar dressing and garlic and soda and chocolate frosting and that stupid, stupid lasagna, sausage and cheese and sauce and noodles that have now all gone so, so disgusting and wrong as she regurgitates them in a soup of undigested chunks.

Julian leaves, the door swinging shut just as her belly cramps hard and her guts gurgle again. A thick burble rolls through them before she shits again. Her lower tummy is cramping so badly that it makes her tears start spilling again.

The vomit on her clothes and skin has just started cooling so stickily and disgustingly when her stomach rolls again. There’s no relief in bringing her meal out of her. Her tummy just won’t stop hurting as it lurches again with an abrupt, heavy slosh and she belches another meaty wave of lumpy sludge down her front.

Her guts clench. She tries so hard to make it stop from one end or the other, but it just won’t. She feels useless and helpless as her body takes over — really, as her stomach takes over — and she just has to let it do what it’s going to do.

It feels like it takes forever for Molly to arrive. It definitely feels like it takes longer than the promised fifteen minutes, but Georgia’s not a good judge of anything right now. Especially not the passage of time.

When the women’s bathroom door opens again though, Georgia drags her eyes open again. She glances down and sees the huge puddle of chunky red vomit spreading slowly across the tile floor beneath her. Her own business clothes are stained with it. Her puke pools in her underwear and drips down her legs. It makes her stomach churn as it sloshes upwards and makes her gag thickly, then belch.

A soft knock comes on her stall door. “Georgie? Baby? It’s me. Can I come in?”

Georgia moans. “…’s disgusting.”

“Oh, sweetie, you know I don’t care about that,” Molly tells her. She still waits and asks again, “Can I please come in? I just want to take care of you and get you home safe.”

Those words make another wave of tears prick at Georgia’s eyes. Before she can stop them, she hiccups, then starts sobbing again.

“Yes,” Georgia begs. “Yes, please, please —”

Molly pushes open the unlocked stall door. Georgia looks up at her through her teary eyes. She’s never felt more disgusting in her life, but somehow, Molly doesn’t look disgusted. She just looks so worried and loving that Georgia’s pounding heart finds it in itself to skip a beat.

“You poor thing,” Molly coos to her. She has her duffel bag slung over her shoulder and a big roll of paper towels in her hand. “Don’t move, okay? I’m coming.”

Georgia watches as Molly kneels down and starts cleaning up the vomit puddled on the floor. She makes a weak noise of protest, but Molly just waves her off without looking up.

“It’ll just take me a second, and then I can get to you better,” Molly points out. It’s a fair point. The vomit is everywhere on the floor. Molly would probably have to walk in it just to get to Georgia, and Georgia doesn’t want to step in it to get out.

“I feel so sick,” Georgia groans. Her stomach growls again, an angry, hollow gurgle as if to agree with her. Molly’s head lifts when she hears that, looking in the direction of Georgia’s swollen belly.

“You sound so sick,” Molly answers. “Julian said the lasagna turned on you?”

Her tummy snarls noisily as a nasty, bloated rumble of nausea flips inside her. She has to swallow compulsively so she doesn’t throw up all over the floor again and ruin all of Molly’s efforts so far.

“Got it, don’t talk about the you-know-what.” Molly keeps working as quickly as she can, mopping up huge handfuls with the paper towels. Even though it’s hit-or-miss if vomit will bother Molly, it doesn’t seem to even strike a chord with her now. She’s efficient and fast and doesn’t even seem bothered. “I’m so sorry you’re feeling so sick, baby. I’m going to clean you up and drive you home. We’ll get all that gross stuff out of you so you can get in bed and get some rest, how about that?”

Georgia feels like she is a very long way off from being able to lay down in their bed without completely ruining their sheets, pillows, and probably the mattress, but she doesn’t say so. She just closes her eyes and tries to let Molly’s words distract her from her churning stomach.

Molly’s nearly done with the floor when a low growl snarls through Georgia’s guts again. Her lower tummy rumbles before her intestines feel full again, her belly grumbling thickly. A glorp burbles through her stomach before her lower guts whine, and she shakes her head.

“You should get out,” she groans.

“I’m here for you,” Molly promises her. “I’m not going anywhere while you’re sick.”

“I’m disgusting.”

“No, you’re sick, and I love you.” Molly picks up her handfuls of soaked paper towels and backs out of the stall for just a moment to toss them in the trash. She comes back in less than a second and goes to Georgia this time, pushing sweaty strands of hair back away from her forehead with caring fingers. “Oh, baby. It’s going to be okay. You’re not disgusting. Just let it out.”

Georgia doesn’t really have a choice, in all honesty. Her lower tummy cramps again before another rush of diarrhea pours out of her. She groans, burping again, but Molly is undeterred. She just takes paper towels to Georgia now, mopping up everything she can.

“Okay, and we’re going to get you out of these clothes,” Molly tells her once she’s done her best at wiping her down. She hangs the duffel bag on the hook on the back of the door so she can unzip it and pull out a trash bag. “We’ll put everything in here and I’ll wash it at home.”

Georgia blinks at Molly with tears clinging to her eyelashes and her beautiful girlfriend blurs. “I love you.”

“Oh, honey, I love you, too,” Molly tells her. She leans over her to kiss the top of her head. “We’ll get you feeling better. Now, get naked, hot stuff.”

Georgia groans through a small laugh as Molly crouches to take off her shoes. She uses paper towels between everything and her hands, dropping one shoe and then the other into the trash bag. Molly peels her skirt, tights, and underwear down all together, balling them up to drop into the bag, too. When she stands again, she taps Georgia’s shoulder.

“Arms up,” she tells her. Georgia weakly lifts her arms, hands shaking, so Molly can loosen her collar and carefully lift her blouse up over her head. She’s so careful with it that she manages to get it off without smearing any more vomit on Georgia in the process.

“You could be a nurse,” Georgia mumbles.

Molly laughs as she bags her blouse. “Thanks, babe. I’ll look into it.” She reaches around Georgia to unclasp her bra next and pull it off, leaving her naked on the toilet. A shiver runs through her that makes her stomach give a long, low gurgle in angry response. “Oh, look at you. Poor thing.”

Georgia sniffles as Molly reaches out and takes her chin in her hand. A paper towel gently cleans her face inch by inch. She just shuts her eyes and lets Molly take care of her.

When the paper towel leaves, Molly says, “Okay, here’s the towel, and…” She leans out of the stall again and grabs something. When she comes back in, Georgia recognizes it as the bin from their bathroom trash from home. It’s been cleaned and has a fresh bag lining it. “You hold onto that, just in case.”

Georgia takes the bin in her shaking hands. As Molly moves to clean Georgia as thoroughly as she can with the towel, Georgia starts feeling the ominous grumbling starting to run through her guts again. A nauseating wave washes over her that makes a low, hollow growl curl through her belly.

“If you need to get sick, get sick,” Molly encourages her softly. Georgia whimpers. “Better out than in.”

Another deep roll churns through her belly in a noisy buuuuuurble. “I don’t…” A bubble of pressure rushes upwards and she belches deeply into the trash can. “…deserve you.”

“Oh, please.” Molly wipes under her chin and down her chest with the towel. “You deserve the world, baby. You definitely don’t deserve to be getting sick, though.”

Georgia groans again. Another nauseating wave of pressure bubbles rapidly through her guts and a huge fart blows out of her. Molly brings the towel carefully down to her belly to clean it for her. She’s as gentle as she could possibly be, but even that slight pressure makes a loud, wet gurgle roil through her stomach.

“I feel like I’m dying,” she moans. Her head falls over the trash can. She clutches it in one hand while the other falls to the clean spot Molly’s made on her belly, trying to knead into the cramping shifts of gas at the lower curve of her belly. A rumbling burp surges up, then another, and she spits up a trickle of thick saliva into the bin.

“Not on my watch, you’re not.” Molly runs down her legs with the towel, then seems to decide she’s clean enough. “Okay. I brought you underwear, sweatpants, and a sweatshirt. Oh, and sneakers.”

Georgia’s stomach rolls again. A burble runs painfully through her guts with a series of glorping pops before she’s forcing out another wave of runny diarrhea that feels like it will never stop. “Not…” She belches into the bin again, then moans. “Not ready.”

“Then we’ll wait until you are.” Molly crouches in front of her, rubbing Georgia’s thigh slowly. “It’ll be okay. I’ll get you through this.”

Georgia blinks at her from the rim of the trash can. She means to thank her, but when she opens her mouth, her stomach rumbles and she ends up belching into the bin instead. Another burp rolls up, then another, then another. She gasps between them, moaning. After one particularly deep burp, she blows out a shaky breath, feeling her stomach preparing to lurch upwards again.

It does just that in the next second. Her whole stomach hitches like it’s pulling inward and she gags once before her belly tries again, a violent heave rushing upward to send another fountain of chunky vomit spilling from her lips. This time, at least, it goes into the bag in the can.

She barely has time to pant a breath before she burps and another heave of her lunch comes up. It’s disgusting passing up through her throat. It’s all chunky and she can feel every piece moving through her as her tummy rumbles ominously.

An angry, hollow growl echoes through her abdomen before it heaves up again. She vomits so hard into the can with her head bowed over it that the puke comes up and out her nose as well as her mouth. Georgia’s starting to cry again when she blows her nose into the can, the vomit burning her sinuses and making her head throb.

“That’s it, get it up,” Molly coos, rubbing her shoulder. “That’s my girl. Come on. You’re going to be okay.”

Georgia sobs again before a low burp rumbles out of her. Her stomach twists in a nauseating roll. It just won’t stop moving inside her and gurgling so much, angrily and loudly, seemingly never-ending. The tight, horrible cramps of her stomach muscles are getting worse as they try to push everything out of her, contracting and clenching in pulses with her belly.

When another burble of gas curls upwards in her, a foul, wet belch erupts from her with forceful pressure. Another snarl growls through her belly before she jerks forward over the trash again and gags, retching, a deep belch bringing up another surge of vomit that splashes up the sides of the bin with the force of it.

“Okay, that’s okay,” Molly quiets her. “Shhhhhh. Just breathe. It’ll stop soon and we’ll go home. Okay? It’s only a ten-minute drive.”

“What…” Georgia hiccups, then spits a mouthful of acidic puke into the bin. “What if I…”

“If you get sick in the car, I’ll clean it,” Molly finishes her question for her with her answer. “Either end. No hesitation, baby. And I’ll pull over in a second, you just say the word.” Georgia’s tummy ripples with another hollow growl. “Or your stomach can say the word. You guys decide.”

A faint smile flashes across Georgia’s face before she spits the strands hanging from her lips into the trash. Molly swipes a clean paper towel under her nose and across her mouth and chin again for her.

Though her guts are still rumbling ominously, thick and heavy with burbling pressure that is clearly far from being done with her, it feels like it’s taken a pause from coming out that end for a moment. She shivers, her cold sweat cooling further on her skin. Another burp coaxes up out of her, her stomach sending a thick, liquidy gurgle through the center.

“Want me to rub your tummy for you?” Molly asks. She's being so sweet. Georgia almost feels bad for still being so humiliated.

“You don't have to,” she mumbles into the trash can. Her mouth floods with saliva and she opens it up to let it drool into the can, closing her eyes so she doesn't have to look at the mess of sick filling the can.

“I want to! And I don't do anything I don't want to,” Molly answers. “But I won't if you say not to. I just wish I could make you feel better, Georgie, baby. You look so sick.”

“I am so sick,” Georgia agrees. A tight squirm writhes through the back of her stomach; a grumbling, whining creak of a sound gurgles in the center of her swollen tummy, and she lets another sour series of burps run out of her. “I don't know the last time I felt so sick. It's like my stomach is turning inside-out.”

“I know, baby.” Molly reaches up and strokes sweaty strands of hair back away from Georgia's face so they won't stick there anymore. “Do you want to try getting dressed and going home?”

Georgia evaluates her stomach for a moment. It's beyond a doubt that she will be sick again, but maybe she can hold it in for the short ride home. At least she has the bin now.

She gives a pathetic nod and says, “Yes, please.”

“Okay, baby, okay.” Molly pushes herself to her feet and gives Georgia a kiss on her sweat-slick forehead. “Let's get you in some clean clothes. Keep holding your trash can, okay?”

“Mm.” Georgia has a thick feeling in her throat that doesn't want to try speaking through.

Molly just gets to work again. She wipes off her hands with a paper towel torn off her roll before diving back into her duffel bag. She withdraws a pair of her own sweats along with Georgia's underwear, and Georgia sniffles when she sees them, shaking her head.

“Yes, these are much more comfortable than yours, and I'm bigger than you so you can wear them looser.” She pats her own stomach. “Won't hurt your belly as much. Okay, first foot up.”

Georgia lifts her feet so Molly can slip a new pair of underwear onto her, then her pink sweatpants. She barely manages to lift her arms to get the sweatshirt on, but Molly helps her lift her wrists one at a time, and they pull it off together.

“Okay, I know you're feeling sweaty, you can take them off as soon as you're home, baby,” Molly tells her while rummaging to grab her sneakers. “Here we go. Let's slip these on, okay, there we go…”

Georgia gazes down at Molly as she slips her sneakers onto her feet and feels a pang of love for her so strong it nearly makes her dizzy. She has a sudden sure sense that this is going to be the woman she marries.

Proposing while she's evacuating what feels like everything she has ever eaten, out of both ends, in the stall of her office's bathroom doesn't feel like the right place, right time, though. She'll have to think more on that when she's feeling better and can think more on a thing that isn't the nausea that has consumed her senses.

“Perfect.” Molly rises again and asks, “Want me to help clean you up?”

Georgia shakes her head. “I can… I can do it.” She stifles a gurgling burp, then holds the bin up. “Hold this?”

“Can do,” Molly says, taking the bin. “More like trash can do.”

Georgia hiccups a laugh, then groans when her stomach growls in response. “Don't make me laugh.”

“I'll try, but I'm naturally hilarious,” Molly says as she steps back to give Georgia space. Shakily, Georgia rises up on unsteady legs. Her whole body is trembling and weak, and she nearly collapses the second she's standing. “Whoah, okay, no, no —”

Molly lunges forward and catches Georgia with one arm, valiantly not dropping her or the vomity trash can. Georgia tilts against her, burying her face in Molly's soft t-shirt and softer chest with a pathetic moan.

“I don't…” She has to stop and swallow, licking her dry lips. “I can't walk.”

It's the most mortifying thing she could admit — that she just threw up and pooped so much that she can't even walk — and what is Molly supposed to do about it, even? Find her a wheelchair?

“Oh, I got you, baby,” Molly assures her. She shuffles slightly and twists to put the trash can on the floor. The next thing Georgia feels is Molly lifting Georgia's arms to pull them around her own neck. “Can you hang onto me?”

Georgia manages to knot her hands together at the back of Molly's neck, and she gives a queasy nod against her chest.

“Okay, you just focus on that.” Molly wraps one arm around Georgia's waist, holding her tight against her as she reaches for the toilet paper holder on the wall. She reaches around her and cleans her up as Georgia hides her humiliated, burning face in her chest. After a few passes, she hears the toilet flush, and then Molly is crouching a little to reach for Georgia's pants to pull them up.

Georgia just focuses on keeping herself upright and hanging onto Molly. It's a Herculean task. She never thought standing and holding something could ever be so difficult.

When her underwear has been pulled up, the waistband rests below her swollen belly. Molly does the same with the sweatpants, tying them as loosely as she can just under the bloated lower curve of her upset stomach.

“Okay, I'm going to pick you up,” Molly warns her.

“What?” Georgia's eyes fly open. “You can't carry me.”

“Yes, I can,” Molly says. “I've done it lots of times.”

“No, you can't…” Her tummy gurgles again, a series of rumbling, popping, angry-sounding blorps that run up through to her throat and make her belch deeply, a thick second burp following after, right into Molly's chest. “Oh, I'm — I'm so sorry —”

“Baby, listen to me,” Molly says. She still has one hand around Georgia's waist, the other cradling the back of her head, softly stroking. She must be able to feel the gurgling in Georgia's tummy, but she doesn't say anything about it. Instead, she says, “You'll only feel sicker if you keep stressing out about me. I promise you, you do not need to worry about me. I pinky promise. Right now, I need to worry about you, and you just need to trust me and let me take care of you. Okay?”

Molly's strong, steady heartbeat pulses evenly right below Georgia's ear. Tears spring to her eyes again that she hides in Molly's t-shirt, ducking into her chest again.

Hearing those words from anyone — that would be one thing. She's never heard that before, not ever. But hearing them from Molly?

This is definitely the woman she's going to marry.

“Okay,” Georgia agrees softly, for the first time in her life. “Thank you.”

Molly kisses the top of her head. “Thank you. Okay, let me grab the bag and the bin, then I can grab you and get you home.”

“The keys are at my desk,” Georgia mumbles against Molly.

Molly rattles the duffel bag as she works it back onto her shoulder with one hand, the other still holding Georgia up. “Julian gave me your work bag and your lunch box.”

Georgia's stomach swirls and lets out a low gurgle where it presses against Molly's. She groans. “Don't say lunch.”

“Roger that.” Molly manages to get the bag on, then stops. “Okay. I think you're about to see a magic act. Hang on tight, baby, okay? And get sick if you need to.”

Georgia tightens her grip as much as she can. She's holding on tight when Molly ducks a little to get both arms underneath Georgia and slowly sweep her up into them in the most careful bridal carry anyone has ever attempted.

Inside, Georgia's stomach swoops at the movement. It voices its displeasure with an angry snarl and a series of low rumbles. One of the gurgles snarls upwards into a hollow belch, and Georgia groans after it comes up, curling slightly in Molly's arms. She takes a few deep breaths, breathing carefully through her mouth, before her stomach will leave her throat and return to rumbling away in her middle instead.

“All good?” Molly asks. Georgia shrugs as much as she can. “As good as we'll get, got it. Okay, now, hang tight…”

Georgia knows Molly's strong, and that she actually enjoys working out, and that she stays fit for work. It's another thing entirely, though, when her girlfriend is carrying her, a duffel bag full of her things, and then actively squatting to scoop up the trash can of her vomit in her hand without making Georgia feel like she'll fall for even a second.

“Wow,” she breathes once Molly's upright again, juggling everything — including Georgia — with apparent (and misleading) ease. “You're so strong.”

Molly laughs. The sound is nice right under Georgia’s ear, rich and full. “And you, my poor love, are sick. Come on, let's get you home.”

Molly manages to open the stall door with the toe of her shoe, sliding them both out and through. At the door to the women's bathroom, she knocks it a couple times with the side of her foot.

“Julian?” she calls. “Can you open this up for me?”

She backs up just as the door swings open. Georgia has her face buried against Molly’s chest, hoping to save herself the humiliation of making eye contact with one of her coworkers after the show she's just given, how loud she probably was, and while her girlfriend is carrying her out of the office.

Julian makes himself known with a sharp hiss. “Oh, Georgie. You look like shit.”

Georgia huffs a tiny laugh, then groans when her stomach gurgles again.

“Yeah, get her home,” he says to Molly. To Georgia, he adds, “Feel better! Markus said to stay home tomorrow and feel better, too.”

“Thanks for everything,” Molly tells Julian on behalf of both of them. “I'm glad someone's looking out for her.”

She can hear the smile in Julian's voice when he answers, “Yeah. Me, too.”

Molly goes through the door and heads down the hallway, back the way they came. Her voice is so soft it's nearly a whisper when she tells Georgia, “Nobody's looking, I promise. Nobody's even in the hall.”

She probably has Julian to thank for that, among other things. She'll do that when she's feeling better, too.

Georgia isn't sure if she's ever felt sicker in her life. She is sure that she's never felt safer in her life than held in Molly's arms while she carries her to the elevator and then through the lobby, out to the parking lot and Georgia's car. She wishes she could stay here forever — and that her stomach weren't so furiously upset while it's happening.

“What about yours?” Georgia asks. “Car.”

“Oh, I just ran over,” Molly says. “I figured I'd be driving you home.”

Georgia is struck for a moment before she repeats, “Ran?”

“Well, I wasn't waiting for a bus or an Uber while you needed me — Oh, here we go.” Molly fumbles with the duffel bag before she pulls out Georgia's keys and unlocks her car. “Passenger seat, or lie down in the back?”

“Up front,” Georgia tells her. The car ride is daunting on its own; she'll need to fix on the horizon to try and keep her stomach in place. And have easy access to the window and door. Just in case.

Molly opens her door with the hand underneath her knees and pulls it open before she's tucking Georgia onto the seat, so gentle in placing her down that her stomach doesn't even slosh that much.

“Okay, I know it sucks, but you're the one with the seatbelt rule.” Molly pulls the seatbelt down to buckle her in. After a moment of pause, she works her free hand softly under the bloated lower curve of Georgia's belly. “Sorry.”

Gently, she lifts Georgia's sick tummy up out of the way so the belt can go underneath her stomach instead of across it. The movement sends a thick growl through Georgia's stomach, and she groans, curling forward. It's followed by a series of rumbles that gurgle upwards and make her burp deeply.

“I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry,” Molly apologizes, grabbing the bin off the ground and pushing it into Georgia's hands. “There you go, baby, whatever you need to do. It's okay.”

Georgia spits an acidic mouthful of saliva into the bin. Her mouth tastes so disgusting, she gags over the bin, then retches, bringing up a rumble from her stomach and a belch of vomit that splashes out of her into the trash.

“Oh, baby, I'm so, so, so sorry,” Molly says, rubbing her back in slow circles. “I thought that would be better.”

Georgia thinks of how many times she might have thrown up on the drive home if the seatbelt was compressing her belly the whole time. She shakes her head.

“This is better,” she croaks, then coughs and spits to clear her throat and mouth. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” Molly says. It might sound cheesy coming from anyone else, but she has a way of making it sound genuine as she cradles the side of Georgia’s head and kisses her temple. Even though she’s still hanging over the bin of her own vomit.

Molly practically runs around the car to climb into the driver’s seat. She examines Georgia’s controls before she gets the car started. She doesn’t prefer driving, but she does it often enough. At least she has her license.

“Okay, you tell me to and I pull over as soon as possible, I promise.” Molly buckles herself in and backs out. “I’m going to go as slow as I can, okay? Do you want water or anything?”

Georgia just shakes her head, lifting it so she can stare forward, hoping the motion of the car won’t do too much damage. “Won’t stay down.”

“Okay, we’ll try and hydrate you when we’re home,” Molly says. “Want music or anything?” Georgia shakes her head again. “Okay, you just lay back and rest. Let me get you home.”

Georgia exhales slowly, tilting her head back against her seat back. As she promised, Molly pulls slowly out of her parking lot, then slowly into the road. They don’t live far from home, but Georgia’s stomach churns as the car turns anyway. She swallows convulsively, closing her eyes, trying to breathe through her mouth.

Her tummy still feels so sick and bloated. She can’t believe how much came out of her at work; everything should be gone now. She still feels full, and her stomach won’t stop moving, swirling inside her over and over and over in nauseating, gurgling, disgusting churns that really do make her feel like the organ is just going to die inside her. She doesn’t know how lasagna could do this to her.

They’ve barely driven for two minutes when Georgia feels her stomach start to roll itself upwards. She groans, shifting to sit up more so she can hang her head over the trash can again.

“Can you…” She lets a rumble turn into a belch that pours out of her mouth before she hiccups, then groans. “Can you rub my stomach?” Her face burns with the embarrassment of asking, but she makes herself do it anyway. Molly said to trust her and to let her make her feel better. She’s trying. “Sorry. I know you’re driving.”

“Who needs two hands to drive?” Molly asks, taking one hand off the steering wheel so she can reach over to the passenger seat. She glances over once to make sure her aim is correct. “Anywhere in particular?”

Another gurgling burp comes from the pit of her stomach. “It hurts everywhere.”

“Oh, baby.” Molly gently pushes the hem of Georgia’s oversized, borrowed sweatshirt up and sets her hand carefully on the curve of her belly. “Oh, wow, you’re so bloated, Georgie. That can’t —”

She cuts herself off when another rumble moves through Georgia’s stomach. Molly gently strokes a circle over the spot she feels it originate. She can probably hear when it originates with how loud it is.

“That’s a lot of moving and grooving going on in there,” Molly comments. “This feels really upset, baby. No wonder you’re so sick. This doesn’t feel good at all.”

Her strokes dig in just enough to displace a pocket of pressure in her tummy. Her stomach flips, and she groans, leaning further over the bin as a shallow, acidic hiccup burns her chest.

“I agree,” Georgia pants into the bin.

“Yeah, I bet you do.” Molly keeps gingerly rubbing her bloated, gurgling, upset stomach as she drives as slowly as she can. She’s pretty good at avoiding potholes and too-sharp turns, but Georgia can still feel the nausea starting to build higher again. The brief reprieve she’d been granted isn’t going to last long.

The car bumps and Molly hisses through her teeth.

“Sorry, sorry!” Her hand rubs across Georgia’s belly instead of in circles, gliding back and forth as far as she can reach. “Shh, you angry thing. Leave my girlfriend alone, you’re just being mean.”

Georgia laughs and hiccups again.

“Right, sorry. Not meant to be funny.” Molly rubs up and down Georgia’s side, over the swollen upper crest of her stomach, then down the rumbling side back down to the heavy, gurgling lower curve. “Just got to get you home.”

The motion of the car is slow, but it’s still motion. Every stop and start at a red light or a stop sign has her stomach snarling and lurching up into her throat again. Her nausea is growing more intense, cold sweat prickling all over her skin again as she hangs her head over the bin, eyes closed, waiting for the inevitable.

At the next green light, it turns yellow, and the person in front of them slams on their breaks as if they’re at a red light. Molly has no choice but to do the same or crash into the back of them.

At the jolt of the car stopping, Georgia’s stomach lets out a sickening gurgle that seems like it lasts far too long, squirming through the center of her belly and up towards her esophagus. She groans before she belches up a sick burst of sour air, the taste of disgusting lasagna heavy in her mouth, then whimpers. Molly keeps rubbing her belly, trying to follow the grumbles rippling under her hand, but there’s so many. There’s too many.

“I…” Georgia pants, then gags.

“It’s okay, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to crash, I’m so, so sorry,” Molly apologizes profusely. “Get it up, baby. You got this.”

Georgia shakes her head, drool hanging from her open lips as she stays there over the bin. She pants, chest heaving, shoulders hunched inwards as her stomach hitches and she retches, bringing up a thin trickle of vomit. After a second, a low burp falls out of her, and her stomach hitches upwards.

“Holy shit,” Molly comments at the same time that Georgia belches up sludge into the bin. Her tears are streaming and she burps again, and again, then again, bringing up another wave of vomit. “It’s okay. Get it up. You got this.”

The smell of her vomit is filling the car, the disgusting, hot scent of puke and soured lasagna and garlic and sausage and eggs, and Georgia spits before she whines and then belches again.

“We’re almost there,” Molly promises her. “Three more minutes, we’re almost there.”

Georgia can’t answer. She’s too focused on her stomach flipping again, a sickening twist that sends burbling pressure into her guts again. Her lower tummy gives a loud, disgusting whine before a series of bubbles audibly slosh through her gut, and she groans, clenching as tight as she can.

“We need to get home,” Georgia tells her urgently around a burp. “I’m go…” She belches again, then can’t stop herself before she farts. It’s disgusting and noisy, but she’s so grateful it doesn’t turn wet that she doesn’t care how gross it sounds. It doesn’t do anything to relieve the pressure grumbling through her lower belly now, though.

“On it,” Molly promises. Her hand strokes down to Georgia’s upset lower stomach, finding the growls glorping through it and rubbing softly into her bloated, gurgling belly right there.

The pressure suddenly makes Georgia feel like she’s going to shit now, and she gasps out, “Stop, stop.”

Molly snatches her hand away, already apologizing, “I’m so sorry, baby. Do what you have to do, I told you, I’ll clean the car. We’re almost home.”

Georgia nods jerkily, drooling into the bin still. She has to lift her head to inhale and try to breathe. Hanging over the vomit and breathing that in is only making her more nauseated.

“One minute and we’re home,” Molly promises. “One more minute. Just hang on, Georgie, baby, I got you.”

Georgia chokes down air, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. Her tummy rumbles, and she burps, tilts her head back, and blows it upwards with a soft moan.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

“I know.” Molly reaches out to rub her thigh instead. “I know. Don’t be. It’s okay.”

Georgia sobs as she hangs her head over the bin again. A growl thunders downwards through her belly and into her gut. She clutches the bin in both hands, burping over and over with thin gasps for breath between each.

Eventually, her stomach manages to work up another churn that rumbles upwards. She retches, leaning forward to vomit up more of her lunch. She doesn’t know how there’s still more, but up it comes anyway.

“I am throwing up,” she whispers, vomit hanging from her lips, “everything I have ever eaten.” Her belly snarls inside her. She moans. “Crap. It hurts.”

“I know, we’re here, we’re pulling in.” Molly parks the car only a few seconds later and she’s out of it in a flash, running to Georgia’s side door. “Let me carry you inside, come here.” Georgia lifts her head, feeling pathetic and small, and gestures vaguely with the bin towards the back seat. “Leave the bag, I’ll come back down for it once you’re all set.”

Just more work for Molly to do, and Georgia groans, leaning over the bin again to spit as her stomach rolls upwards.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s just a bag. I’ll bring it now if you want.” Molly opens up the back door and grabs the duffel bag. Georgia sniffles, wanting to apologize for being ridiculous, but she can’t before she’s retching into the bin again. The thick rumbling in her guts starts burbling even lower, and she gasps halfway through a burp, nearly choking on it.

Molly’s back at her side in a flash, unbuckling her gently before she’s pulling the bin away. “Okay, we’ll just…” She looks around, then takes the plastic bag of vomit out of the bin and hands it back to Georgia. “For you, my queen.”

Georgia smiles a little as she watches Molly tie off the full bag and run it over to one of the dumpsters at the edge of the parking lot. Georgia sets the empty trash bin on the floor of the car and shivers while she waits, even though it’s a nice, comfortable day outside. Molly runs right back to her and crouches to slip her arms under Georgia again, pulling her snug against her chest.

She doesn’t have to hang on this time. Molly lifts her right out of the car and holds her gently against her in a scoop. Her belly rumbles again, and Georgia puts her hands over it instead, rubbing slowly through the soft sweatshirt.

“Okay, up we go, up, up, up,” Molly chants as she nudges the door shut and jogs for their building. The car locks behind them. Georgia’s not coherent enough to know how Molly did it all at the same time.

She does notice when Molly heads for the stairs instead of the elevator, though. “Elevator’s out?”

“It takes forever and it’s so herky-jerky, sweetheart, you know that,” Molly says, kicking the stair door open. “I’ll take you up myself, it’ll be faster and smoother. You’ll be home in no time.”

Georgia looks up at Molly as she starts carrying her up the stairs with even breaths, like it’s nothing at all to do this. The motion of watching her and seeing the ceiling spin above her makes her dizzy, though. She has to close her eyes and tilt her face into Molly’s chest again. She takes deep, even breaths through her mouth, clenching every muscle in her body, begging it not to do anything until she’s inside at home.

They’re almost all the way up the stairs when Georgia’s stomach gives a loud, hollow growl. Her nausea spikes unexpectedly. She doesn’t even have time to do or say anything before she’s jerking and vomiting down her chin and over both hers and Molly’s chests.

Tears come up again as Georgia sobs, “I’m sorry —”

“No, no, it’s okay, I’ll clean it up,” Molly tells her as Georgia hiccups and then burps up another sludgy, sour mouthful of vomit down her front. She groans as her stomach churns again, bloated pressure moving in every direction in a disgusting swirl, her lower tummy giving a long, low, bubbling whine again. “Okay, I’m hurrying, we’re hurrying, almost there.”

The last few steps are agony. Georgia clutches her belly desperately, willing it to just stop for a second. It won’t stop writhing under her hands, determined to show her just how upset she’s made it. As if she doesn’t get it already.

Molly fumbles at the door to get the key in the lock before she’s kicking it in and speed-walking Georgia to their bathroom. She probably just finished cleaning this. It even smells clean when she hauls Georgia in and kicks the toilet seat lid up.

“Here we go.” She sets Georgia down carefully, and Georgia trembles on her shaky legs for only the second it takes to yank her pants and underwear down and drop onto the toilet. Shuddering, she curls over her belly and her bowels immediately open up again with a horrible, long release of air and a splash into the water.

A restless, writhing churn gurgles through her stomach before she slams her hand over her mouth and belches deeply into it.

“Trash can — Shit, it’s in the car.” Molly whirls and tells her, “Stay there.”

Georgia watches her sprint from the room. In her absence, her stomach twists, a nauseating churn shifting with a liquidy borble downwards, and she groans out load. She leans further forward over her stomach, arms wrapped around the swollen bloat of her stomach. There’s a strange low sound that’s almost like a glug sound near her lower belly before she feels a twisting, clenching cramp and she bears down to force another painful, burning rush of liquid out of her ass.

“Mmmmm…” she groans, slowly stroking her stomach back and forth with both hands. A loud squelch sloshes upwards from the pit of her stomach before a cavernous gurgle seems to echo through her entire abdomen. She moans before a belch ripples up, loud and wet. She has to squeeze hard against her mouth with her hand again and burp over and over just to keep herself from vomiting onto their floor, too.

Molly comes sliding back into the room a moment later. She has their bedroom trash bin in her hands with a fresh bag in it and she thrusts it into Georgia’s lap.

“There you go,” she says. She nearly trips over her own feet on her way in. “How are you feeling, Georgie?”

Georgia shakes her head. Her arms wrap around the trash can, her hands gripping the rim, holding herself over it as her stomach squirms, then sloshes. It just refuses to even try settling down.

“Do you think you need to go to the hospital?” Molly asks. Georgia just shakes her head again. “Or a doctor? I could ask Darren to text his brother?”

Georgia squints up at her. “You text Darren?”

Molly laughs at her, reaching out to rub Georgia’s shoulder again. “Yeah, baby, I do. He’s a nice guy. He’s important to your brother. Who knows? Maybe…” She stops herself. “I don’t know.” Molly crouches and asks, “Do you want to try Gatorade? I’ll get you Pedialyte but I haven’t been able to yet, I’m sorry.”

All Georgia can do for a moment is stare at her. She’s disoriented and feels floaty and strange before her stomach growls again and she frowns before a belch rolls up out of her like it’s in control of her.

“I’ll bring water in for you.” Molly straightens up and says, “Arms up, Georgie, baby.”

Georgia holds one arm above her head, her other hand still gripping the trash. Molly strips her out of her sweatshirt one bit at a time, gently taking it off of her, careful not to make a mess of her in the process.

“Want me to bring you something else to wear?” Molly asks. “I can bring you Pepto, too. Or Imodium? Or both? I’m sorry, I’m not as good at this as you are.”

That makes Georgia look up at Molly again, this time with confusion. “What? But this is…” Her tummy shifted noisily with a low, wet gurgle and she stopped to swallow and take a breath, blowing out another burp slowly. When she can breathe again, she tells Molly, “This is the best anyone’s ever been to me.”

Molly looks like she’s smiling and frowning at the same time somehow. She cradles Georgia’s face in both hands and kisses her hard in the center of her forehead.

“I’m so sorry, Georgia,” Molly tells her. “And I’m so happy to love you.”

She kisses her several more times in the same place in rapid succession before she pulls away.

“I’m going to get you Pepto and water,” Molly says. “Do you think you want to go to bed after this, or camp out in here? I’m good both ways! I can make you a nest if you want, it’ll be so cozy. And the toilet will be right there!”

Georgia holds one shaky hand out wordlessly. Without needing to ask why, Molly takes her hand and squeezes it tightly, just holding it for a moment.

“I need to stay here,” Georgia eventually says.

Molly squeezes her hand again, then kisses the back of it before she brings it back to her belly and lays it gently on the rumbling upper swell.

“Stay right here, and I’m going to get you a nightgown and make you a comfy nest,” Molly promises her. On her way out the door, she adds, “And Pepto and water! I didn’t forget!”

Georgia huffs a little laugh as she holds herself up over the trash can again. She can’t think of another person she’s ever known, let alone loved, who would be so enthusiastic and sweet and kind about taking care of her while she feels like she’s more disgusting than she has ever been in her entire life. She just makes her smile and laugh so naturally. The fact that Molly can make her feel any sort of happy while she’s feeling this awful makes her want to just hug her and never let her go.

A lower, wetter gurgle rumbles through her belly. Georgia feels a wave of nausea wash over her in a cold chill. When she strokes slowly over the bloated front of her belly, she swears she can feel the mess inside her stomach swirling under her hand.

Her stomach cramps tightly again. She groans as the cramp starts right under her ribs and spreads downwards. All her muscles keep tightening until it’s reaching below her navel, then her guts, then her ass, and she’s letting loose so much she’s briefly worried it won’t stop. It just keeps coming. She whines, stretching back, clutching her lower belly as it tightens painfully and sharply. Another spurt comes, then another, then another before it starts slowing down again.

“Ohhhhh,” she groans. “Ohhhh…” Her stomach rolls again. “Mmmm… Mmmmmmmmmm…”

A vicious, nauseous burp erupts from her. Her tummy cramps again, so hard she can’t help but whimper a little. The tight bloat of gas that won’t leave her gurgling stomach works up another belch that tastes far too much like the lasagna and sausage for how much she’s already gotten out. She’s not sure she’s ever going to be able to eat lasagna again after this.

Georgia kneads at her belly and tries to push into the heavy, bloated pressure. She just wants everything to come out. She wants this to be done.

When she burps again, a thick snarl gurgles through the bottom of her belly, forcing up another burp immediately. This one is stronger, denser, makes her tummy jerk with a hiccup before it’s churning again. The contents of her belly whirl ominously as she bows over the trash can and lets a deep belch growl out of her.

Her guts growl at the same time. Georgia moans before a long, thick fart gurgles out of her. Her tummy forces up another huge burp that she expects to turn wet. It’s so thick she’s surprised it doesn’t. When her lower tummy whines thickly, forcing a grumble squirming through it, she curls forward again, head buried in the trash can. Another rancid belch of lasagna comes up at the same time a wet fart gurgles out of her.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Molly says as she runs back to the room. She has a pile of blankets and pillows in her arms that she dumps onto the floor. “I washed all of these today! And…” She digs through the blankets. “I have Gatorade, a few waters, Pepto, Imodium, apple juice, mints, a Liquid IV packet, Tylenol, and Motrin. Oh, and a backup bowl, and a hot water bottle!”

Georgia rests her cheek against the inside of her elbow, her chest heaving as she looks up at her and her arms full of supplies.

“I can’t keep any of that down,” she tells her in a thin, croaky voice.

“Eventually you will,” Molly says with confidence. “And when you can, I’ll be ready.”

Molly lines each item up neatly on the counter of the sink before she returns her attention to the mess of pillows and blankets. This is the most distracted Georgia has been from her stomach since she first ate the lasagna in the first place, is watching Molly arrange everything several times before she deemed herself satisfied.

“Your stomach still sounds so upset, baby,” Molly comments as she pushes at the pillows like she’s an oversized cat. She’s made some sort of round bed out of the blankets and tucked the pillows around it in a rim, more pillowed at the end closer to the toilet. “Are you feeling any better than before?”

Georgia glances down at her stomach. She usually has a little bit of a soft belly. Earlier, in the work bathroom, her stomach had been so bloated it was curved out huge from her body in a way she’s not sure she’s ever seen on herself before. Now, it’s still much bigger than it should be, though it’s not as round as it had been. It’s more of a misshapen, gurgling bloat now, but it still won’t stop churning. When she lays her hand over it, 

“Maybe a little,” Georgia answers. “I don’t think I’m done yet.”

A bubble of gas gurgles up in her stomach and rises up to the back of her mouth. It’s thick and acidic, but it doesn’t come out. It just burns in her throat.

“We’ll ride it out,” Molly tells her. She sits up in the middle of the nest on the floor and pulls out her phone, tapping quickly on it. Georgia watches her for a moment as she starts rubbing her stomach again. Her soft strokes become faster and faster circles across the rumbling bloat of her entire belly. It feels like it lurches to fill her hand just before it hitches inside her and brings up another disgusting wave.

Her guts feel like they’re bubbling inside her. She can’t stop trying to massage her stomach in desperate circles. The further forward she leans, the more it fills her hand until it’s groaning with a loud, squelching whine and she’s lurching forward to belch up more chunky vomit.

Molly’s at her side again, rubbing her back in slow circles. Georgia can’t help the tears that spring to her eyes as she clutches her bare belly, then tries rubbing across it again. Right beneath her navel is another heavy, painful cramp, and she groans as she tries to push down again.

The effort of putting any pressure on any part of her body makes her whole tummy start bubbling audibly. She whines, bowing her head over the trash can. Her body can’t decide if it wants to push everything up or down right now.

Instead, it seems to decide all directions at once is the right choice.

Suddenly, Georgia doesn’t feel “maybe a little” better. She doesn’t feel better at all. She thinks this is suddenly the worst she’s felt all day as her stomach churns so violently that her breath catches. A deep, rumbling, wet gurgle rolls through her stomach before it lurches upwards under her hand. It doesn’t come out, though. It just drops back down like a rock, dense and thick and burbling in the pit of her stomach.

“It’s okay,” Molly tells her. “Want me to rub your belly?”

“Yes,” Georgia cries. She focuses on holding the trash can. She knows something bad is coming. She can feel it.

Her stomach cramps relentlessly in tight clenches, low and deep in her gut. The muscles all over her abdomen keep squeezing over and over in nauseating, cramping waves. The slightest movement makes everything in her stomach slosh and swirl, gurgling so constantly and loudly that it’s all she can hear. It’s louder than the pounding of her pulse in her ears.

She feels so clammy and dizzy. Her whole body feels like it’s shaking as her heart pounds in her chest and her belly rolls upwards again with a massive, thunderous growl. As her lower stomach contracts sharply again, burbles rush through her intestines and pressure bloats her further down and her guts twists into knots. Her belly is bubbling inside, her stomach distended under Molly’s hand as she rubs in firm circles over the front of her gurgling tummy.

Georgia closes her eyes, bracing herself over the trash can as her stomach. She can’t stop crying. Tears just keep streaming down her face as she hiccups, then belches again, rumbling out of her. She whimpers before another burp pours out, then another, her nausea swelling more and more with each deeper belch and accompanying rumble.

Molly’s hand on her stomach is the only comforting thing she has. She says, “Harder,” thickly, then belches again into the can.

Molly doesn’t hesitate. She circles Georgia’s entire sick, gurgling stomach with the rotations of her hand in big circles over the front where it’s gurgling the most. She pauses and then tries stroking side to side, pushing in, trying to soothe her belly.

She’s trying, but it’s not going to calm down. Georgia’s only hope is getting it all out.

Georgia’s nausea keeps building higher and higher and higher. She can’t stop farting or belching; they just keep rolling out of her. She’s so far past the point of dignity she can’t even find it in herself to be embarrassed anymore. She just wants to feel better more than anything.

Her gurgling stomach rolls again. It’s a deep, violent churning of the growling contents of her tummy. It feels like a disgusting snarl flips her stomach and sends a series of burbling, pressurized grumbles downwards at the same time it sends a massive, sloshing churn upwards. She thinks she might pass out for a second. She might even have slumped forwards if Molly hadn’t caught her shoulder with her free hand.

“It’s okay,” Molly promises her, still rubbing her belly in firm circles, alternating between those and the strokes across the curve of her tummy. “Just get it up. You’re almost there.”

Georgia’s shoulders hitch, her spine curving as she drools into the bucket. She groans, “I feel so sick,” barely audible. Her stomach is groaning louder than she is. “I’ve never felt this sick.”

“Once it’s out, you’ll feel so much better,” Molly promises her. Georgia’s chest is heaving as she struggles to breathe through the nausea and the undulating of her rumbling stomach. Molly’s hand picks up the pace on her belly, stroking in firm circles as Georgia gags, feeling her gorge rise again, everything trapped sitting right at the base of her throat.

Molly keeps telling her that it’s okay and it’ll all be over soon, and that she’s here for her. It all becomes a blur of comfort in Georgia’s ears as another gurgles rumbles through her tummy, and another, and another, pushing up a thicker, more nauseating belch with each one. Her mouth tastes the most disgusting it has ever tasted. I am never eating lasagna again ever, ever, ever.

The thought of the lasagna makes her stomach convulse and her mouth flood with bitter saliva. A massive, violent blech retches out of her at the same time her guts push out a thick, gurgling fart. Her stomach sloshes, she feels like she’s nearly going to black out.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Molly says just as Georgia’s stomach launches upwards in a heave and she vomits so hard into the trash can she thinks she’s going to drop it. Molly grabs it and holds it up for her, keeping it and Georgia upright easily. Georgia just collapses against her as she opens her mouth and another waterfall of puke pours out. The bits of her carefully-chewed lunch come up in lumps that stick in her throat and she gags, burping up a new wave into the can just as her bowels open up again.

Pressure explodes in both directions, fizzing and frothing and burbling inside her. She shits as forcefully as she vomits, all at the same time. Her stomach can’t decide what to do, so it does everything. It’s growling the whole time, angry snarls that won’t stop, bloated rumbles working through her heavy stomach as her lower belly blurbles and forces out rush after rush of liquid mess. Her tummy contracts, and she does it again, essentially vomiting from both ends at once.

Molly keeps her upright, rocking her slightly, making sure the trash can stays under her mouth even when she sways. The room smells disgusting, and Georgia sobs through the whole thing as her body wrings itself out. It feels like her stomach is twisting like a rag inside of her, squeezing tighter and tighter, so agonizingly, nauseatingly painful in its efforts to evacuate everything out of her body that she’s ever put into it.

 Over and over her stomach snarls, rumbling as it churns non-stop and keeps forcing more out of her. Her guts feel like they open, everything in her lower belly pouring out as it cramps heavily. So much of the mess becomes thick, taking effort to push out. It’s effort she doesn’t have to give and she wraps her arms weakly around her sick belly with another sob as it happens anyway. Her tummy contracts, cramping hard, and pushes more out of her ass in a mushy mass that piles in the toilet under her.

She’s still pushing down as much as she can when the bloat gurgling her tummy rolls upwards and she hangs over the almost-full trash can with a deep retch. It happens again, then again. Each one is deeper, lower, and wetter than the last. They each feel like they’re pulling at the center of her upset tummy as it swirls, trying to bring it all up right from the middle of her.

The last retch goes on for a long time as she forces it to come up. Her body is trembling with the effort of everything she’s doing. At the end of the retch, it turns productive, becoming a huge, meaty belch and then a thick wave of her stomach contents. She vomits up a fountain of the slurry inside her, of chunks of lasagna and salad and sausage and cheese and garlic bread and cake and bacon and eggs and she thinks even her burger from last night — all of it sprays out of her into the can as she pushes out a huge fart and a massive, liquidy shit with it. The whole time, her stomach won’t stop writhing, gurgling, forcing everything in it out in waves.

Georgia doesn’t know how long it takes before she can breathe again. Her vision feels splotchy. She’s panting for breath. Her chest heaves as she blinks her eyes. Her stomach gives a slow, deep roll, and she belches up a thin trickle of sludgy puke into the can. It’s practically all the way full now, and she has to close her eyes.

“Okay,” Molly says quietly, pulling the bin away. “Okay. Let me just…” She sets it aside, then quickly pushes the backup bowl she’d brought — their big plastic popcorn bowl — into Georgia’s lap. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Georgia sniffles, then starts sobbing again.

“That was so horrible,” Georgia chokes out, drooling over the bowl.

“I know, baby.” Molly rises to her knees and holds Georgia in a hug. Georgia just drops her head against her shoulder and wraps her arms around her churning stomach. “I know. That was scary. You must feel so sick. I’m so sorry. I’m right here, I won’t let anything bad happen. I texted Darren, and he’s going to text his brother and tell me what to do.”

Georgia only has it in her to nod weakly against Molly’s shoulder. She feels exhausted, wrung-out. She’s still nauseated, her guts still thick and cramping, her tummy still gurgling and queasy. She knows this is far from over, but she also feels so tired and she might be able to take a break after everything that just erupted out of her.

“Can I lay down?” she asks. Her voice is scraping. She realizes her mouth is dry.

“Of course, baby.” Molly sits her upright and reaches to the side for a cool washcloth. “Let me just clean you up a little bit properly, okay? Then we’ll get in the nest, you can drink some water —”

“No,” Georgia groans.

“Just a little,” Molly coaxes. “For me. To hydrate the love of my life?”

Georgia groans again. “Taking advantage.”

“At least you have your sense of humor.” Molly gently kisses the top swell of her belly just as it gurgles right in the same spot. “Oh, hello there. Is that our food baby?”

“If it is, it’ll burst out like in Alien,” Georgia grumbles. Her stomach growls again, and she hiccups. “I want to lay down.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go.” She takes the bowl from Georgia and helps her stand up on her trembling legs. Her vision goes a little splotchy for a second, but she leans heavily on Molly and lets her hold her up. It gets a little easier after that.

Molly cleans her up again. It has to be disgusting, but Georgia can’t pay attention like she did before. She was embarrassed earlier, and she will probably be embarrassed later, but right now… She just can’t care about anything except being comforted.

When she’s cleaned up, Molly helps her pull her clean pants and underwear back up, remarkably unsullied through Molly’s best efforts — and against the best efforts of Georgia’s stomach. She assists her in stumbling over into the bed nest and collapsing into it. She curls up on her side with a groan, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around her tummy.

Above her, Molly rinses out the bin into the toilet and flushes the whole mess away before Georgia hears her at the sink. There’s the sound of water splashing for a few moments before the bin is returning to the floor next to Georgia’s head, nearer than the toilet.

“In case you can’t make it.” Molly looks at the options on the counter next, then selects the Pepto, the Imodium, and the Gatorade. “Here we go, baby.”

“Nooooo,” Georgia groans, burying her face in her pillow and stifling a burp into it. Her stomach sloshes a little, and she swallows with a nauseated hum.

“It might help,” Molly says in a sing-song.

Georgia’s quiet for a moment before she sighs. She knows logically that Molly is right. She just is too miserable to think logically at the moment.

“Okay,” she says, trusting Molly to take care of her, just like she’d asked her to.

Georgia lets Molly help her to sit up. She unscrews the Imodium first, handing it over in its cup measurement to Georgia after careful measuring. Georgia smiles a little as she brings the cup to her lips.

She stops there.

Her stomach gurgles, revolting at the idea of swallowing anything after she just threw up everything. Though — it felt like everything in the moment, but the way her stomach still feels heavy and rumbly, it couldn’t have possibly been everything. There’s still more in her. This stuff might be her only chance to soothe her upset tummy before it starts all over again.

“Okay,” she breathes. Her hand is trembling. “Okay.”

She has to steel herself, but she holds her breath and throws back the Imodium like a shot. It rolls thickly down her throat and drops into her stomach like a heavy weight. Her tummy gives a strong churn, squeezing around the new arrival, and her nausea spikes again.

Georgia pushes the cup back at Molly. She takes it in one hand and rubs Georgia’s stomach with the other, back and forth across the middle. Her stroking is firm and even, finding the place where the Imodium has landed to gurgle through her, and she brings up a thick belch that tastes of the chalky medicine.

After a few more swallows, she manages to keep the mouthful down. For now.

When she opens her eyes, she’s briefly confused seeing Molly holding a pink cup up to her. It takes her a second to realize it’s the little measuring cup of Pepto.

“What if I throw up?” Georgia asks softly as her heavy stomach gives a thick, squelching toss.

“You’ll definitely throw up without it,” Molly reminds her.

They both know it’s true. Georgia takes the cup and brings it to her lips again. She has to take a few deep breaths before she can bring it up and gulp it down. IT takes a few thick swallows; it feels as thick as glue going down. Swallowing it takes so much effort that she gags a little and feels it start coming back up, but she gulps it down with a mouthful of accidental air.

Her stomach churns heavily around the new inclusions of thick medicines in her belly. The air she swallowed comes up again in a meaty belch as her nausea rolls through her.

“Keep rubbing,” she chokes out before her stomach boooorbles and she burps again.

Molly does as she’s been told to do. She keeps stroking her belly, trying to rub in circles over the front again to help everything stay in place. It feels like she’s almost helping mix everything together — as if she’s helping to combine the Pepto and Imodium with the contents of her gurgling stomach, making everything slosh together. Her stomach feels like it’s lined in thick stickiness, dense as the Pepto and Imodium roll heavily in with everything else.

As her tummy clenches, she asks, “Can I have the Gatorade?”

Molly unscrews the bottle and swaps it for the empty Pepto cup. It’s orange-flavor, and Georgia brings it to her lips to take a slow, tiny sip, just to clear away the thickness in her throat and belly, and the disgusting taste in her mouth. It feels so good in the first tiny sip that she takes a couple of swallows before Molly eases it away from her.

“Not too much too fast,” she tells her. “Go easy on your tummy. She’s having a hard time right now.”

Georgia groans, then burps, tasting orange Gatorade and Imodium and Pepto and that stupid crappy lasagna. “I thought we were mad at her for being mean to me.”

“Yeah, but she’s a part of you. I’ve come around on her.” Molly sets the Gatorade aside and coaxes Georgia into laying down again. “I just wish she’d settle down.”

“Me, too,” Georgia agrees. She tries to lay on her side again, but when her stomach sloshes and pushes up a rumbling belch, she changes her mind. Instead, she rolls onto her back with a low moan. Her head rests on Molly’s shoulder as her arm curls around her. Her guts gurgle again, and she farts. “Crap. I’m sorry.”

“Fart all you want on me, baby, you’re still the hottest girl I’ve ever known,” Molly replies. She kisses the top of her head. “Maybe especially now.”

“Shut up,” Georgia says. Her face is burning with heat. “My stomach hurts so much, Molls. What did I do to deserve this?”

“I won’t actually say, because you’ll puke again.”

“Gallant.”

“Thanks. But you didn’t do anything wrong, baby. We all get sick,” Molly promises her.

“You hate seeing people get sick,” Georgia reminds her. As if she needs reminding; Georgia still remembers the time Blaine threw up in front of her and she threw up immediately.

Molly doesn’t answer for a moment. Georgia shifts, putting her hands on her swollen stomach. She relaxes as much as she can into the soft nest Molly has made for her on the cool bathroom floor.

Georgia is slowly rubbing in and out over her stomach as it slowly rolls when Molly finally says, “For some reason, when it’s you, it just… I don’t know. It’s like I can push that part of me away for a second. It’s just… I don’t know, Georgie, it’s just different with you. I feel different.”

Georgia tilts her head up to look at Molly above her. Molly’s just slowly stroking Georgia’s hair, and she looks down at her when she feels her move.

“What?” Molly asks. Her fingers slip up to push a loose strand of hair back from Georgia’s face.

“I love you,” Georgia tells her. “Thanks for taking care of me when I’m gross.”

“You kidding me?” Molly asks. “Remember when —”

“If you’re about to describe a time you got sick,” Georgia says. “Don’t.”

“Yeah, smart idea.” Molly keeps stroking her hair as Georgia rubs her tummy with both hands. When another low gurgle runs through her stomach before a thick whine grumbles through her cramping lower belly, she asks, “Do you want the hot water bottle?”

“Yes, please,” Georgia answers. Molly sits up just a little to reach for it and pull it over. It’s already filled with hot water, sloshing like the stomach she’s putting it on. “There you go, baby. Try and rest, okay? Toilet’s right there, try and let the Pepto and Imodium settle. If you can’t, just get it up.”

Georgia puts the heating pad on her lower stomach. The cramps start to react slowly, her muscles heating up under the warmth. Her belly pushes up a belch from the pressure on it, and she groans again, closing her eyes. Everything inside of her is still sloshing as the Pepto and Imodium and Gatorade mix in. Her stomach doesn’t seem to have decided if it will accept it yet. She wants to squirm, but instead stays completely still, pressing the hot water bottle hard into her tummy.

Her fizzling, acidic nausea starts becoming a heavier, denser queasiness. She swallows thickly when her stomach sloshes again, sending a loud gurgle through her tummy before she sighs.

“I’ve got you.” Molly kisses her hair again. “Just rest. I love you. It’ll be okay.”

The weight in Georgia’s belly keeps rolling slowly. It’s a thick, sluggish heaving that keeps coming in waves. Slow, rumbling churns keep gurgling downwards, always followed immediately by a second churn that rolls up instead, like her stomach can’t decide what to do or which way to go. Now and then, her nausea will flare and spike again, and she’ll groan, pushing the hot water bottle to wherever her bloated tummy is cramping and gurgling most.

In an attempt to settle her stomach, she rolls onto her side again, tucking her knees in, cradling the hot water bottle to her belly. She hopes the pressure will help even a little bit.

Everything inside of her sloshes more loudly now. It all glorps downwards with a gurgling glug-glug-glug-glug as everything moves inside of her to slosh to the side. She keeps her eyes shut tight.

Molly keeps stroking her hair as she tries to fall asleep. It’s like true sleep keeps hovering just out of reach. Behind her closed eyes, the world keeps spinning and pitching and tossing, making her stomach heave. Whenever it lurches, she jerks awake again.

A cramp twists her lower belly, and she pushes the hot water bottle harder into the spot. It causes a loud, wet gurgle to echo cavernously through her belly, and she presses her face into her pillow again before she shifts positions again onto her back once more. The movement sets off another slosh in her belly, and she whines a little before she burps.

“Not settling down?” Molly asks her, stroking her hair still.

“It’s still so upset,” Georgia whispers. She tries turning onto her other side, laying against Molly. Her bloated belly presses into Molly’s side, but that turn and the pressure has her tummy swirling again. Desperate, she rolls onto her back again and burps. “I just want to sleep. I want this to end.”

“I know. Just… Okay. Breathe with me.” Molly holds Georgia a little closer. Her head rests on her chest instead of her arm. “In and out. Slow and steady.”

Georgia clutches the hot water bottle to the lower crest of her belly. Molly twists into her just a little. It’s enough that she can put her other hand on Georgia’s stomach and start stroking in soft circles over her gurgling stomach. She listens to Molly’s even breathing and the steady beat of her heart in her chest. She tries to ignore listening to the constant gurgling and churning of her stomach.

She doesn’t even realize she’s falling asleep at first. It happens in pieces, where the muscles in her tummy loosen just enough to let her start dozing into a sort of half-sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Molly keeps rubbing her belly even when Georgia falls asleep far enough for her hands to slide off of her stomach, the hot water bottle falling down onto her thighs. Molly doesn’t want to stop rubbing her stomach to pick it up; she thinks this was helping more.

For a few moments after she falls asleep, Georgia’s stomach quiets slightly.

It’s only a second after Molly has that realization that Georgia’s tummy feels like it rolls under her hand in a slow, lazy, sluggish shift. It’s like her heavy stomach is shifting inside her, turning over in her abdomen. A deep, hollow growl rumbles through her before a low, drawn-out gurgle vibrates a ripple through her tummy and under Molly’s hand.

Georgia’s brow furrows a little in sleep. She shifts a little. Molly follows, continuing to rub her belly in her slow circles. When her stomach makes another, wetter noise, glorping before a thick grumble whines through her lower tummy and her upper belly gives a strange glug-glug-glug when she shifts again.

Georgia exhales softly in her sleep. Her fingers twitch.

Molly glances up at her face before looking down at her belly with concern. She’s never seen Georgia get that sick before. It scared the holy shit out of her, but she couldn’t let Georgia see that. Not while she was actually blowing all the shit out of her.

At least she’s resting now. Or she will be able to, if Molly can keep her stomach calm long enough to let her sleep for a while.

Her stomach looks so swollen. It’s sticking right up from her abdomen, rounded and soft and moving now and then of its own accord. Molly can see, feel, and hear when a long churn rolls through her tummy, accompanied by a heavy, gurgling squelch deeper inside her. Her belly visibly rises up with a hitch, her muscles tightening, before it lowers again with a slight release of those cramps.

A bloated bubbling sound burbles upwards before it dissolves into a growling, hollow groan at the top of her stomach, under her ribs. In her sleep, Georgia’s jaw tightens. She swallows without waking.

Molly’s phone dings quietly. She glances over at it, craning her neck to see who it is, and realizes it’s from Darren. Good. Maybe he can help.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

requests used:

"The way you slowburn things? The way you describe things? You are my absolute favorite sickfic writer. There’s this one scenario I’m obsessed with and would love to see you tackle if you have the time and the muse. Someone ill (preferably food poisoning or norovirus, preferably from both ends) during an important meeting. They’re trying to hide their rumbling tummy from coworkers or important clients, trying to resist holding their belly, trying to hold back the belches and so nervous over everyone hearing the rumbles. They’re just… hungry - yeah, that’s it! So obsessed with this scenario and would love to see your take on it if you get the chance and have the muse for it! I’ve tried writing it myself before, but I just can’t write it like you! (And I refuse to ask something like ChatGPT - strongly against genAI in this house!)" (from Anonymous)

"if you're still looking for specific food prompts: lasagna?" (from Anonymous)

"while i love all of your oc’s my favorite is undoubtedly georgia, id love to see a fic of her sickest experience or even just the sickest she’s ever felt stomach wise" (from Anonymous)

"can we get a short story where Georgia gets indigestion from eating too fast at work for whatever reason and tries to walk it off but ends up in a meeting clutching her stomach stifling burps trying to hide it from everyone while she's sweating bullets?" (from Anonymous)

"can we see a fic where Georgia or Molly gets violently sick at both ends at work they have to be picked up by the other person?" (from Anonymous)

"so fun fact, i'm sick right now. on the way back from work, in the taxi home, my girlfriend rubbed my bloated, gurgling stomach. when i got home i puked more than once, but it kind of felt like i was in one of your fics, perhaps even a molly x georgia one, it was so sweet of my gf to stay by me the whole time and give me tummy rubs imho..." (from Anonymous)

[1234emetolover1234]

alright, I'm back and looking to do some emeto rps, I'm open to both short and long term rps. We can chat either here or on discord, message me or like this post if you are interested.

Thanks :)

(also if I stopped talking to anyone suddenly I'm so sorry I had some shit going on but I'm back and more organised now)

[1234emetolover1234]

nah why do i feel so nauseated

[1234emetolover1234]

Guys I’m at work and I’m feeling so sick wtf 😭

[1234emetolover1234]

Emeto Roleplay

alright, I'm back and looking to do some emeto rps, I'm open to both short and long term rps. We can chat either here or on discord, message me or like this post if you are interested. Thanks :) (also if I stopped talking to anyone suddenly I'm so sorry I had some shit going on but I'm back and more organised now)

[1234emetolover1234]

Guys I'm actually so sick rn, I can't stop throwing up, I think I caught a bug or something.

So like yeah, feel free to message me about it.

[1234emetolover1234]

pregnancy emeto

Just thinking about pregnancy and emeto together, someone with a big pregnant belly just getting sick over and over again.

I love when they have really bad morning sickness, and they're dizzy and fatigued. I love it when they have multiple simple things that will just set off their nausea.

[1234emetolover1234]

For anyone 18+ feel free to message me about an emeto rp or feel free to message me about anything in general :)

[1234emetolover1234]

Just reposting

[1234emetolover1234]

I like morning sickness because they’re always bringing it up naturally they never gag themselves

Ugh, yes, I totally agree

[1234emetolover1234]

I'm really in the mood for some pregnancy related emeto, either rp or just talking about it. Dm me :)

[1234emetolover1234]

For anyone 18+ feel free to message me about an emeto rp or feel free to message me about anything in general :)

[1234emetolover1234]

Awww huge bummer that you got actually sick! I hope you get better soon! The Rona sucks hugely but I also enjoyed the nausea a lot myself when I had it. Hope you’re able to keep yourself occupied ;)

Hi Anon! Thank you for checking in :) I've actually been pretty sick over the past few days so it's been hard to really enjoy it, however, I hope others were able to get something out of it.

[1234emetolover1234]

Hey so I got CO/VID, I'm like, really sick, throwing up and everything. So if anyone wants to talk about that feel free to message me.-

-Taylor

[1234emetolover1234]

hi :)

So, I want to be more active and talk to more people in the emeto community, so please feel free to private message me, rp with me, or just interact with me. I would also really love some prompts as I want to start posting emeto fics.

Thanks, Taylor <3

[1234emetolover1234]

So after I posted this I got really sick lmao, maybe it's karma, anyway dm me if you wanna talk about it.

[1234emetolover1234]

hi :)

So, I want to be more active and talk to more people in the emeto community, so please feel free to private message me, rp with me, or just interact with me. I would also really love some prompts as I want to start posting emeto fics.

Thanks, Taylor <3

[1234emetolover1234]

My friends were having a conversation about weird (what they thought was weird) kinks they had heard about and one of them brought up emetophilia. I was just sitting there like... do they know?? Lmao that was a new kind of panic

[1234emetolover1234]

Emeto Rp

For anyone 18+ feel free to message me about an emeto rp or feel free to message me about anything in general :)

[1234emetolover1234]

just reblogging this