Relieving Pressure (a sickfic)
I tried to not be so wary of scat descriptions this time. I donât think I went into grave detail but this is still a lot for me, so I hope it suffices! Iâm so tired lmao the end is bullshit but Iâve been working on this for literal months and I just wanted to get it out finally. Might redo sometime. Other than that, enjoy my baby Rory chronically illnessing all over the damn place and the younger coupleâs first documented argument~
Rory regretted everything, absolutely fucking everything. Sure, he had been exhausted, but he had known it was a terrible idea to stop for coffee, and yet somehow, he had suppressed the part of his brain which told him not to do it, and only remembered it when the pain hit him. And now they were on the highway, no real chance to get off it to divert to a bathroom for at least another half hour, and he was undeniably, absolutely fucked. Â
He and Maria had decided that it would be nice to spend the holidays with her parents this year, for what would hopefully be the last year they would have before they would be parents themselves. Her dads had been all too happy to hear that Maria was going to marry an Australian man, and that enthusiasm hadnât waned after they had met him. Rory had, as what was expected, been a nervous wreck as he hadnât the best track record where parents were concerned, but he neednât have worried; Enrico and Ashanti couldnât have been more pleased with the upstanding individual Maria placed in front of them, especially after her last boyfriend, and by the end of that interaction they had already reassured him that he had two more people in his corner now who would always be there for him, and that he was now a valued member of the tiny Garcia-Sykes family who they were extremely proud to know and call their own. He had left that visit in shambles from the pure love that was swelling inside him, exclaiming he could never divorce Maria now, even if only for losing those two men. Â
Because divorce was never a consideration between them, the only thing Maria focussed on in that sentence was that her dadâs had made her boy feel so incredibly loved without having to know a single thing about where he had been in life â they didnât need a reason to put forth the effort. And she couldnât be more relieved for him. Rory deserved that so fucking much.
That had been quite a few years ago now, they had both still been in uni at the time, still practically babies, and a lot had changed since then, the one constant being how much they all loved each other, as corny as that was. It had been a while since they had been able to make the trip into Sydney to see them, but Rory had quietly insisted that he had really been missing them one night recently, and so of course Maria wanted to breach the gap between the two most important relationships in her life. Her dads had been all too happy to invite them into their home, as anticipated. They had of course extended the invitation to the older couple as well; they were also honorary family members and Ashanti got emotional thinking about the two women being orphans around this time of year, but they still lived at the old house and they frankly didnât want to properly participate in the holiday that year, thus reassuring them that they were fine and that they would spend Christmas Day blazed on their couch with the curtains closed and air conditioner blasting, eating take-away and watching Netflix, so they would be absolutely fine but thanks for the offer! So that left it that Rory and Maria were to be the only ones making the five-hour journey into Sydney on Christmas Eve, and there were to be a few other choice events which would drive it in the direction it was headed to. Â
To start, they had both forgotten to pack the night before, too enthralled in their latest show, and so if they were hoping to get on the road by 5am, that meant they would need to get up much earlier than that to get everything together. This led them to waking up at 3am, still pitch-black outside, and stumbling around in a haze getting their bags packed. They would be staying until after New Yearâs, so packing was a little more complex than it would have been if they were just going overnight. Â
âAh, la mierda, stupid thing, sabes dĂłnde estĂĄ el cargador de mi telĂ©fono, mi amor?â Maria mumbled as she rummaged through her bedside drawer, rubbing the still-clinging sleep from her eye with her free hand. She was too sleepy to not fall into her native language, and frankly didnât even see it as a problem that needed fixing, as Rory had gone above and beyond learning as much as he could of the Spanish language to even the score of his bilingual beloved. So, in a normal setting he would have normally been able to translate that straight-forward sentence with ease. Normally he would. But as sleepy as she was, so was he, and right then it was as if she were speaking another langâŠsomething other than English or Spanish. His confusion honestly frustrated him, as he was already operating on a lower setting it being so early. The ache in his stomach and the heaviness of his eyelids made him frankly feel as if he were in survival mode. Heâd been uncomfortable since heâd woken up, a familiar but dreaded discomfort sitting heavy in his stomach, seeming to drag his feet and his mood straight through the floor with its weight. Maybe it was nerves, maybe it was his chronic illness, maybe it was something else entirely. All he knew was that he didnât feel right, and he wasnât in the mood to handle his tired temper with grace. Â
âIâm too tired to translateâŠâ he muttered quite bluntly beneath his breath, not turning as he folded a pair of light grey sweatpants against himself, anchoring the waistband to his chest with his chin. A flicker of frustration tugged at his eyebrows when he heard Maria chuckling in response. That hadnât been a joke, what was so funny? Couldnât she tell that he wasnât feeling well? How did she not know him well enough by now to understand how he was feeling without him having to spell it out for her? He knew that wasnât fair, but it felt fucking obvious.
âIâm serious, whatâs so damn funny?â Â
Maria straightened at the tonal shift, certainly ceasing her simple laughter. She recognised that tone of voice all too well; Rory sometimes had flares of anger due to what she believed was BPD (he had never been diagnosed and she wasnât allowed to handle his case, but he symptomatically overqualified), which was easy to figure out because he rarely got organically angry. But while she understood, more than most others would and it seemed more than he did, she had promised herself she would never allow a partner to treat her the way she had been in the past again, which meant she attempted to help him through his episodes, but she wouldnât excuse him. Neither of them deserved that. Â
She jerked her gaze onto his back, where he still hadnât turned to her. Her eyebrows pinched as she drew in a deep breath through her nose, exhaling it from her mouth while turning back to the drawer and closing it. She made an absolute effort to remember her English, but the cogs were dragging. Â
âI get youâre probably abrumado en este momento-â Â
âOh, get off it, Maria. You really have to be trying at this point. Fucking English, please! You know how to speak it, donât pretend you donât. My brainâs barely awake,â Rory unkindly spoke over her, flinging the pants he had just folded down into his luggage, aggressively groaning when they landed in a heap. Maria couldnât help but flinch when she heard him audibly wring his hands through his hair and whack the side of his head in response. Â
Despite fully knowing that she shouldnât help escalate the situation and that meeting him with the same energy would do nothing but that, Maria could feel a flustered irritation rising in her chest, could feel her face growing flushed, and knew that submitting currently would directly go against her new stance when it came to how partners treated her. She shouldnât have accepted it with Randall, and she wasnât going to accept it with Rory. Â
âMio tampocoâŠâ She muttered to herself, and Rory threw down the next shirt he had been working on, exclaiming with his distaste glaringly clear in his voice, Â
âWhat? What are you fucking saying?!â Â
âMine neither, Rory!â Maria was yelling back before she could stop herself, in a voice perhaps a whole octave higher than her normal, slamming the drawer shut, making it rock slightly. Rory was equally quick to respond, the volume of each of their answers swelling rapidly, Â
âOh, so you know how to yell at me but not anything else, gotcha! Fucking figures!â Maria felt the urge to cry paining in the back of her throat, truly not understanding how, or even why, they were even fighting in the first place. She had just asked a simple fucking question, and Rory thought it was just okay to yell at her over it? Why the Hell was he being so damn insensitive this morning? Â
âWhy do I have to be the one to remember your language all the time? I already have to do it for everyone else here, canât I just have a break sometimes?â Rory felt the once benign pain in his stomach digging itself in deeper, making the conscious effort not to put his hand on it, dealing with it by doubling down, not over. Â
âYouâve had the most practice, right? Since you were a kid, Iâve only been at this a few years. Youâre exposed to English all day, I donât-â Â
âAnd donât you think that gets fucking exhausting?!â Maria shouted over him, her pitch drastically risen by this point. The lump in her throat worsened the heated dampness gathering in her eyes, âI have to with literally everyone else, why canât you make the effort for just me? Why, when I ask you a simple question, are you yelling at me for no fucking reason? What gives you that right, Rory?â Her shoulders hitched as a tiny groan of emotion left her mouth, a few stray tears sliding down her cheeks. Her throat and chest ached, and the muscles in the back of her neck shook with adrenaline. Raising her voice to any real extent always elicited quite a physical response from her, and she felt her whole body quake with the aftershocks. Â
He had made her cry. Oh, fuck he had made her cry. He wanted to stop so bad, he loathed making her feel any sort of negative emotion, and the look of hurt drawn across his wifeâs face caused him genuine pain. But when he got into these moods, it wasnât something he was so easily able to walk himself out of. It was almost like something else took over him, and Rory stood outside screaming to stop. But he usually didnât go so far as to make her cry. Surely, he could stop with that as his incentive. He closed his eyes, took a breath in, and desperately tried to backpedal. Â
âMaria, sweetheart, I-â Â
âDonât even fucking start, Rory,â Maria shot back before he could even get fully past the pet name, her voice sharp yet undeniably tremulous, furthering the gap between them as she began toward the door, fixing him with a glare which could melt ice. Rory almost took a step back, shrinking away with the shame of turning this already stressful morning into a complete shitshow. He felt his own voice dying in his throat as he forced it from his mouth, Â
âNo, you donât get to talk to me like that,â she interrupted him again, spitting her words as if they burned her mouth, which they likewise burned Rory on their departure, âI will not fucking tolerate that, ni de ti, ni de nadie. Ahora, Âżpor quĂ© no te sientas aquĂ y te reconsideras, and cool the fuck off.â Â
And with that, she left, slamming the door behind her, leaving Rory staring at the floor, jaw clenched as he fought back his own tears which burned the backs of his eyes. Â From his position, he could vaguely hear Maria beginning to properly cry behind the door, and could feel nothing but shame.
Even with that burning shame, Roryâs ill brain still wouldnât allow him to come down from the sweltering mood he loathed festering in, and so once Maria had silently re-entered their room and they were both packed, they climbed into her car and began their journey, neither willing to speak to the other for fear of what they would say. It wasnât often at all that they fought, they were generally pretty good at communicating through a problem before letting it get out of control, but Rory hadnât kept his side of that bargain this time, and thus neither would Maria. Why should she be the one to mediate with someone who wasnât willing to take her needs into consideration? If he had just stopped at his first sentence, they could have been fine, but he hadnât, and so she would just let him sit with what heâd done. Why put herself out? Â
The first hour dragged on, every single second felt in entirety, for what sooner felt like eternity. The absence of their usual music stuck out like a sore thumb, accentuating the coupleâs tense silence all the more. Rory snuck a glance across at Maria, whose shoulders were hunched forward with her knuckles being pulled white on her grip of the steering wheel. She occasionally wrung her hand over her chin, an action Rory knew she did when she was trying not to cry, as if she were attempting to hold her jaws apart through it. While her hand wasnât covering it, he could see it crinkle and shiver, and her gaze bore an irritated fatigue, her eyelids hanging low over her reddened eyes. He didnât look for long, however, eager to turn his attention back out the window, to all the buildings and lights which raced past them in a colourful smear. Surely there was something more interesting, less confrontational, out there. And for the most part thatâs where his attention remained, anything to keep from seeing her look over at him. Because that would just bring the shame back to the forefront, and that wasnât something his fragile little brain wanted to have to handle right then. It was experiencing enough, and he wasnât even sure of what. Â
The only thing which eventually forced his attention to break from the declining landscape was the sound of Mariaâs stomach suddenly growling, and then the heavy sigh which followed. He looked across to see her running her hand through her hair, rolling her eyes. She flicked him a dismissive look and sighed again, depositing her hand back onto the wheel. Â
âYou want food?â she grumbled in frustration, not particularly wanting to stop but also being unable to ignore the gnawing hunger any longer. And if she was getting food then she wasnât just going to not get him anything, she wasnât that petty. That didnât mean she was particularly happy about it, though. Â
Rory mistook the ache deep in his belly right then as hunger, and shrugged, nodding oxymoronically. Again, Maria sighed, beginning her search for somewhere they could get suitable breakfast drive-thru. Â
Stopping at a Zaraffaâs had seemed like a good idea in the moment, they both dearly wanted to wake up more and coffee has a habit of doing that to an mf-er. But Rory knew coffee and his Crohnâs never mixed, and yet here he was guzzling at an iced mocha like he hadnât drank for days. Not only that, but he also chomped on a ham-and-cheese zed bread, somehow just having forgotten about his dietary restrictions in that moment. Maria didnât seem that fussed either, but perhaps she wasnât really paying attention, as if she were she probably would have advised him to rethink his order. But the whole time they sat in the parking lot munching at their impromptu breakfasts, neither were really focussed on what could go wrong with the choices he had made. Maria barely even looked at him anyhow, scrolling on her phone as she sipped on a mocha fusion, to which Rory followed in her example and barely looked at her, being exactly as petty as Maria wasnât in that moment. Even when Maria finished her blueberry and banana muffin, she didnât give him so much as a glance, chucking its packaging into the backseat and pulling back onto the road, leaving Rory to go back to staring out the window, stuffing his headphones in his ears and pulling up his driving playlist to drown out the foreboding silence. Â
The pain had come on quite quickly, starting a few songs into his playlist, going from that indistinct ache from their fight to a cacophony of frantically squeezing cramps which gripped at the entirety of his stomach and refused to let up for even a moment. It was a pain he was familiar with, frightfully so, but not necessarily used to. Nothing prepared him for each time it flared, regardless of how many times he had been down this rabbit-hole. Â
He should be used to it. But he wasnât, and he scarcely thought he ever would be. Â
At first his posture stiffened, then he hunched over when the pain compelled him to curl into himself, and then he fidgeted, his left leg drumming and his hands wringing together. Rivulets of sweat slid down his back and his face, humming a constant exclamation of pain and anxiety in the back of his throat. He simultaneously scrunched the material of his jeans and tapped at his thigh, trying to remember the breathing exercises his doctor had taught him to use when the pain got too bad. But it wasnât easy to take deep breaths when your entire torso was now scrunched tight, every muscle in his core contracting as was their instinct whenever a flare appeared. His heart thudded against his constricted ribs, and he tried to focus as much attention as he could on each new song that played, trying to guess the title and the artist before it became obvious. Â
That was obviously a fruitless endeavour, one which he couldnât honestly put a lot of faith into. But anything to take his mind off of how much pain he was in, and off of the awful thought that he would need a bathroom soon enough. While they were currently on the highway, that wasnât exactly going to be an easy task when they had already passed the last bathrooms for at least the next half hour. Just half an hour, that wasnât too bad, right? He could manage that long, please fucking God let him manage that long. Â
âI want you to know that you upset me earlier,â Maria finally broke the silence who knew how long later (certainly not he when every second felt like an hour), and Rory snapped suddenly to attention, being sure to re-tense his muscles as soon as he feasibly could do so, removing one headphone so he would still have the added distraction of his music as she spoke; he couldnât allow his mind to be still right then, not when the reality of the situation kept twisting itself deeper in his lower belly with every passing moment. But as well as he could, he tried to give her a bit of his attention, hoping that her new tangent wouldnât go on too long. Â
âI...get, that you must have been tired, I get that, but that doesnât excuse the way you were talking to me. I apologise for my part in all that, I didnât need to blow up at you, butâŠâ she trailed off in indecision, biting her lip as she drummed her fingers on the wheel, puttering about in her brain, attempting to bring forth her professional side. It would be the best buffer to conduct her side of this apology with, as truly she knew what was right to say in a clinical sense. But objectivity didnât tend to be as great a force as subjectivity. Â
Rory hated that the first emotion to arise from that sentiment was anger. Truly he didnât want to make it any worse, it seemed that Maria was through with arguing and wanted to leave this uncomfortable tension behind, so where would he be to spark the fire all over again? He wanted so bad to agree with her and resolve this, if for no other reason but because it was taking his focus off of trying not to make a mess of her car. But he couldnât. He was so angry with her (and for what??). Â
âHmm, I just donât understand why that had to go so far, you know?â a foreign voice left his salivating mouth, Rory screaming in the back of his own head to stop, please, âthatâs all I want to know.â Â
Mariaâs grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly as the knot which had been slowly loosening in her chest wound itself back up all over again. It seemed Rory still wanted to fight. Couldnât he see she was unhappy and just wanted to put this behind them? Why Rory, why today, when she could feel her period coming on? The pain wasnât there quite yet, but her emotions had certainly already soured, and this was absolutely the fuck not helping. But she still tried to keep her head, squinting and drumming her fingers against the wheel as she thought through her next move meticulously. She hoped Rory would help her quest for peace commence, not take them further away.
âWell,â she began through a light sigh, taking a moment to appreciate the ensuing inhale before continuing, âwhile I know Iâve been at it longer than you, I just wanted you to not take my bilingualism for granted, I guess. Generally, you donât need to worry about trying to remember a foreign language whenever you speak to anyone where you live, but I do. It would be like you moving to Mexico with me and suddenly you had to remember Spanish wherever you went. Itâd be exhausting, wouldnât it? I just donât want you to take that for granted, cuz even though Iâve been doing it way longer than you, it doesnât exactly become second nature so easily. I know I forget words sometimes, and I want you to be comfortable in your own home, but I don't think you realise how much it struggles me. How much, how much I struggle with it, I meant. You don't realise how smart I am in my own language, love, I don't want what I'm able to provide you be taken for granted, that's all.â Â
A particularly bothersome stab of pain dug into his belly as his wife had been speaking, not letting up by the time she had finished, and for a moment Rory shut his eyes, holding his breath to keep from groaning out loud. He momentarily pressed his hand beneath his navel, immediately feeling the furious churnings inside the worst of his bloat, before removing it and instead using it to cradle his head on the windowsill. An unmistakable wave of nausea also overcame him in that moment, sweating bullets as he inwardly glowered. Somehow, disregarding his own perpetuation of the argument, he interpreted Mariaâs non-combative act of explaining her side as a reason for his frustration to continue, or saw it rather an excuse. The pain really wasnât helping, he didnât have strength to do any explaining on his part. Â
The exact moment he let that unconscious thought slip from his mouth, he regretted it. That was perhaps the worst way he could have responded to Mariaâs innocent explanation, and he could practically feel her hurt emanating from her in waves. With that one word all of his anger was spilling out of him, like it had been an essential plug being let loose, and now that it was gone, nothing but shame replaced it at his awful, bratty behaviour. Perhaps it was feeling Mariaâs hurt alongside her that gave him the reality check he needed to stop, he couldnât be certain, but the overwhelming emotion of regret tore at his very soul, hot nausea sloshing around in his stomach. He turned his head toward the window, wishing he could jump out onto the highway, as a painful lump formed in his throat. He heard the sharp intake of breath Maria let out behind him, and his eyes instantly welled up with tears, his shoulders scrunching as he shrunk away. Â
âWhatever?â Her incredulous question slammed into the back of his head, sending pained chills galloping up and down his spine. With his rising emotion the pain had also been on an upward climb, and he couldnât help but clutch his hand against his gurgling stomach, biting his lip to keep the whimpers crawling around behind his teeth from dripping out. Â
âAre youâŠare you fucking kidding me?â Her hurt was giving way to anger, Rory could hear her voice shaking as it rose again, âyou demand an explain and then you no take the one I give you? Whatever, seriously? Well, Iâm so sorry that youâve got so much to deal with, man, having to sometimes remember how to talk me, which letâs be absolutely honest here, you really donât have to do that often. Why, why do you even want to see my dads then? You know good and good youâll have to do so much, so much, augh I don't know, work? Trying to remember how to talk to them, because at home we deserve to speak the language we know, so why do you even want to come if you couldnât do that for one fucking sentence?! Why no am I worth that?â
Rory never knew that her English would break when she was mad. He had never made her this mad. For some reason that broke his heart more than her just reverting back to Spanish. She was trying so hard for him to understand even when she was too mad to think through her translations, even now making the effort. He had also just come to expect it, she most of the time sounded almost entirely fluent, coming as easy to her as it did for him. It really was hard for her, wasn't it? How could he be such an unbelievable arse?
Rory clenched his jaw shut as he tasted sour acid burning the back of his throat, tears of equal temperature temporarily blinding him. It felt as if every muscle in his body was tensed to keep either end from making a mess of the car, and he knew he couldnât keep that up for much longer. His emotions were acting as smothering as his steadily worsening condition, he needed a release. How that would come and from what angle was truly a bargain, one which he wasnât willing to chance. As embarrassing as it was to admit, he had to, because the alternative was leagues more embarrassing. Â
âI need the bathroom,â his words came out in a clumsy rush, continuing to train his gaze out the window, his damp cheeks flushing hot. His jeans were cutting into the bloat of his belly, and he innocuously unbuttoned them and let the zipper undo itself, pulling his hoodie over the waistband to hide it. He ran his fingers through his sweaty hair, alternating between drumming them against his temple and gripping them at a handful of hair. His chest hurt from how hard his heart was slamming against it, and his tensed muscles quaked unabatingly. He felt terrible, his stomach hurt so bad, and he was ashamed he was making the conversation about him after being the titular reason it had happened in the first place. If he hadnât been acting like such a brat, he wouldnât have any qualm communicating to her that his Crohnâs was flaring, and she likewise would be nothing but loving and understanding in return. Now there was a bit of resistance to that notion. And it was all his fault. Â
âWell, I donât know what to do about that, Rory,â the use of his actual name in place of a pet name absolutely stung him, âweâre kind of in the middle of a highway, isnât really anywhere to pull off.â Â
While that was true, if their day hadnât begun the way it had, she would have comforted him and reassured him that they would go to the first one they came across, and to try and hold on until then. The absence of any of that really told tales of how much he had fucked up, and in a moment his chest was tearing open, and he completely broke down. He rocked forward with a heavy sob, hiding his burning face in his hands as his entire body shook with the severity in which he began to cry. Still, he tried to keep himself from losing control in any other area, but he was quickly losing confidence in his ability to do so. But he couldnât stop himself now that he had started, and that was doing nothing but tearing his bodies attention away from holding his mess. Â
Maria was, for a lack of a better word, totally taken aback by this overt outburst of emotion, to the point her hurt anger began draining from her from hearing her boy sob beside her. She sometimes cursed her ability to drop her anger when it wasnât convenient for the one it was aimed towards, but it wasnât something she could put aside here. Not when he was clearly in such poignant distress. Â
âIâŠRory? Baby, whatâs wrong? IâŠI didnât mean to make you cryâŠâ While she did still feel a bit hurt from this whole situation, she couldnât stay angry while her husband was making her least favourite sound in the world beside her. Whenever he cried he sounded so young, so innocent, and so fucking heartbroken. Clearly this was a deeper issue than what he had insisted he was angry over, and she was willing to put it aside when it was clear he was hurting in some way. Â
She had no idea how right she was on that front. His stomach was killing him, he awkwardly crossed his legs and gripped both his hands back against his stomach, squeezing his muscles to the point where they should have unlatched entirely. He panted raggedly, tears dripping from his nose and plopping on the material of his jeans. Acid crept further and further up his throat every moment that passed - he felt so sick that it hurt to breathe, which was unfortunate when crying made him breathe so much and so fast. Everything was awful, he knew he couldnât hold out long enough to get to a bathroom, but that didnât mean he gave in. He would keep trying as long as he possibly could, until it wasnât possible to anymore. Â
âIâŠâ he hiccupped and momentarily clenched his mouth shut with his hand, rubbing his face with it and letting it fall to his stomach again as he continued, âIâm flaring, Iâm in so much pain right now, I, I canât take it anymore, Maria, it hurts so fucking bad, and, and I think Iâm gonna be sick.â Â
Mariaâs heart panged at the strain in his voice, and at seeing him bent over in obvious pain. Continuing to argue was the furthest thing from her mind now, how could she possibly think of that now? Now she only felt guilt; if she had just known that a flare had started, she wouldnât have taken his behaviour personally. If a Crohnâs flare was anything like her endometriosis, and it seemed that it was, and perhaps even worse, then she wasnât sure how he had even managed to get this far without making his condition more obvious. Poor thing. Â
âUh, okay, hun, uh, oh fuck,â she began without having an actual plan for her sentence, desperately scanning for any possible exit they could merge to. But even if there had been an exit in sight, which there inevitably wasnât, it didnât appear to matter too much. Mere seconds after Rory had admitted to all of this, his sickened body couldnât take it a moment longer, and he shoved a hand across his mouth and reached out without thinking, his fingers grazing on his half-empty coffee cup. In his desperate pursuit not to make a mess he decided that it would have to do, and pulled it across to him, unscrewing the lid and practically throwing it to the ground. He only just brought it up to his mouth in time, feeling with horror his entire torso clamping up, before all he could do was close his eyes and let it happen. Â
âOh, Rory, baby!â Maria exclaimed purely out of reflex, watching his whole body jump before a thin stream of orange-brown vomit met the already brown coffee sitting diluted in the bottom of the cup, and as he began heaving out coughs from the persistent sting beginning to carve into the unassuming chasms of his throat. She reluctantly turned her attention back to the road, but reached out a hand to rest on his quivering shoulder, wincing as he let out this higher-pitched sob after he came to a stop in his coughing, but it was promptly stopped in its tracks by the next angry rushing of stomach content spilling into the already almost overflowing cup. âOh, my sweet boy, Iâm so sorry. I promise, as soon as we can weâll pull in somewhere for you to go to the bathroom, Iâm so, so sorry I didnât take you seriously.â Â
By the time the refilled cup had finally reached maximum capacity, the last wave of increasingly chunk-laden sick caused such a violent flexing of his muscles that he couldnât possibly hold himself off anymore, and his chronically inflamed bowels finally let go as he vomited on his hand and lap, and that was the final nail in the coffin. He was a mess from every angle, he felt fucking awful, he had thoroughly moved past humiliation, and he had been being an absolute motherfucker to Maria, who had put aside her hurt when concern for him took over, and had even apologised to him. But it literally wasnât her place, she had no right to apologise! This was his fault, not hers!
âNo, youâre not sorry!â His words had muddled on his tongue and he felt anxiety swell in his chest for fear of being perceived as rekindling the fire, the back of his burning throat going over in a fraudulent chill, âNo no, thatâs not what I meant! I mean, youâre not the one whoâs sorry, I mean, itâs me whoâs not sor-no! Itâs me, I, Iâm sorry!â Â
âRory, love, take a breath-â Â
âNo, no, please listen, I need to say sorry!â Rory ran over her words of encouragement, argumentative in the polar opposite direction than previously. He awkwardly held the overflowing cup away from himself, unable to keep its content from sloshing over the side into his lap where a small puddle had already begun accumulating. But he had already made a huge mess, he probably could have dumped the contents directly onto himself and it wouldnât ultimately make too much of a difference to the overall mess factor. His useless hands shook as he held the receptacle away from himself, focussing on attempting to get his breathing back into a steadier rhythm, but that currently seemed a more difficult task than it normally would have been. Frankly he didnât deserve to calm down yet. No matter how much pain he was in, or how much his brain fought to take over, treating his girl the way he had was simply not an option anymore. She did not for a moment deserve that, and he honestly also owed it to himself to not give in to that type of negativity, as he was a better person than that and deserved to feel and act as such. And he really did need to apologise, he couldnât find pause now that he had started. Â
She had already tried to make this better, now it was his turn to try. Â
Normally there would be some kind of verbal response from Maria in regard to a statement like that, but she was silent now. Rory hated the responses he had been compelling from her today, and saw this action and lack thereof as more of that same tangent. Honestly it was just her recognising that arguing the point wouldnât be conducive in the grand scheme of it all and was allowing him to say what he felt he had to, but that wasnât something he could properly interpret at the moment. If it may be repeated, he was in a world of pain, he would never be able to wear these jeans again, he was holding a cup of his own vomit (which was grossly warm and dripping off his hand), he was thoroughly miserable, and so absolutely pissed at himself. Even though his first instinct should probably be to want to clean up, all he actually wanted was to make this better, and to do that he had to apologise. Â
âIâŠâ to quite the personal chagrin, the moment he opened his mouth his stomach lurched, and with a sudden rush of nauseous heat overwhelming his senses, he held up his finger as if to tell her to hold on, before rushing that hand back around the cup in time for a smaller wave of the evidence of his chronic illness to spill from his mouth, hitting the lip of the cup before slopping over the sides and down his hands, landing in his lap all too audibly. His grip tightened on the cup as he felt it instinctively slickening, at least not allowing himself to make anymore of a mess than he already had. But if he wanted to be properly successful in that regard, he would need something else to be sick into. He would rather not pull over even if they could, dreading when he would have to be faced with the evidence of his fucking weakness. He was a grown-ass man, where in that description did that include accidents like this? No, he didnât want to face that just yet. One mess at a time.
âCan IâŠâ he swallowed the tense, tight feeling in his throat down, so wanting to lay down as his head spun, âcan I please have your cup?â He again gulped reflexively, sucking in a deep breath through his nose as he attempted to hold everything down until he had a new receptacle. He took the time in which Maria rushed to rip the lid off her own cup to try anything he could to calm himself, at least until he could get his apology out and would be free to have his breakdown without guilt. Or at least less. But it was so hard to stop now that he had started. As his belly visibly clenched, making his whole body jerk with the intensity of the motion, he haphazardly shoved his defiled hand across his mouth, gulping on instinct the gritty, heated saliva which had sloshed up his throat. The smell coming off of his hand had him sobbing with his mouth shut, trembling feverishly as the deep breaths he had been taking were suddenly all but worsening his condition.
âAh shit, yeah of course!â Maria rushed out, âhere, love, here, let me take this one from you!â Gently prying the overflowing cup from his sticky hand and instantly replacing it with her empty one, she adjusted so some part of an arm was always against the wheel, rolling down the window and awkwardly flinging the contents out onto the highway, shaking it a few times before trusting it was empty enough and sliding her arm back inside, bringing the window back up as she replaced the cup back into the cupholder, just in case Roryâs stomach somehow found enough to fill this new cup too and he needed it replaced again. Trying not to cringe from the disgust she had suppressed, she wiped her hand on the material of her jeans, making a mental note to wash her hands as soon as they got to the next rest stop. She felt a little sick herself as she tried not to look over at him, but the horrific sound of him practically projectile vomiting as soon as he had been handed the new cup, not to mention the smell, was certainly making up for it. The very beginnings of cramps were curling themselves up in her lower stomach by now, and the nausea which always accompanied them was gathering. This unfortunate turn of events was certainly not helped by this fact. She was therefore grateful when Rory appeared to finish for the time being.
âFeeling any better?â she said, to which there was a miserable silence for a moment while Rory gathered his thoughts, tentatively swallowing as his hand shook on the now precariously full cup. He sniffled, feeling totally lost and certainly looking the part.
âNoâŠâ he eventually moaned, not listening to Mariaâs continued sympathy as he reached for the button to roll down the window. He repeated the act of emptying it out onto the highway, before lowering his arm back into his sodden lap and staring off into space. His teary eyes were trained on the dashboard without ever properly focussing on it, his mind moving at an impressive stagger. He felt proper pathetic, like a little boy in his dadâs drawls, and the shame he currently burned with only added to that overall vibe. But where repercussions would have been untoward then, they would be nothing if not deserved now. But he could choose to do better, be better. He had that ability, and that right, for he had granted it unto himself. He could finish this now, be the better person he knew he was, and then maybe they could find that bathroom. Â
Just before he could properly get this apology underway, however, Maria was interrupting him,
âYou donât need to apologise, Rory, amor, youâve been sick and in pain all morning, and I didnât need to get defensive like I did either. You couldnât help it, itâs okay, Iâm not-â
Rory couldnât resist interrupting her right back,
âHoney, thatâs not an excuse. You never treat me like that, and itâs not like youâre never in pain either. But when yours literally causes mood swings, you always do your best not to direct it at me. So why donât you deserve the same thing?â
Oh damn, he really wasnât wrong there. As Maria tilted her head in consideration of his point, it appeared the fuse came even further loose, and the regretful words fell from Roryâs mouth at the same ferocity his poorly-chosen breakfast had. His apology couldnât possibly be said sooner.
âYou donât,â he was stopped up by a thick hiccup, the proceeding burp allowing another mouthful of vomit to spill into his awaiting hand, his digestive system effectively a broken faucet. Maria couldnât help but grimace and swallow back the urge to gag herself, trying her best to get a handle on herself quickly. Her heart thudded in a ceaseless rhythm, and as peculiar adrenaline began to settle in, she realised just how sick she had started to feel. Â
Rory gave himself no time to re-gather himself, âYou donât deserve any of what Iâve been putting you through today. You work so hard every fucking day to communicate in a way everyone around you can understand, and it must be so exhausting, and youâre right, you do deserve a break sometimes. Thatâs why I started learning, so you could find that break in me, I...â The agonising cramp which suddenly squeezed itself deep in his intestines caused him to miserably cry out, swallowing the rest of his prior sentence in the form of liquid metal as he tremulously pressed his hand against his poor stomach. Â
To his horror, his system was suddenly working in total autopilot at his handâs prompting, and before he could stop himself, he was unconsciously straining, and a further mess was made of his pants, thankfully loosening the cramp somewhat. He would never be okay with this sort of thing. Never will there be a time he wonât be utterly mortified putting on the display he currently was. He was a grown-ass man, vomiting and shitting himself, like a goddamn child. He disgusted himself something. Shame flushed its heated way through his face as he knew she could hear it, could most definitely smell it, and he looked away from her as the burning diarrhoea mush all but flooded into his seat. As watery as it was, it was impossible to keep it from seeping through the material of his pants. Â
The way Maria gasped broke his heart, and served to cause his humiliation to swell.
âAye mi maldito dios, Rory! Lo siento mucho! I-I'm really trying to find a spot we can stop, Iâm so sorry, I know you canât help it!â she exclaimed in an utter panic, and Roryâs chin crumpled at her tone, clutching his gurgling stomach as he stared out the window and fought to get a handle back on his abused muscles. He wasnât done, he was nowhere near done, but he knew how much of a struggle this could be to remove from car seats, past experiences aiding in his knowledge. The last thing he wanted was to give Maria a bigger mess to have to clean up, not after all this. He visibly strained to clench his muscles, managing to stop the angry flow with a resounding crampy stab of pain travelling up his digestive tract. All he could do was let out an almighty groan in response, before he was struggling to reassure her,
âDonât be sorry, I know youâre trying, love, like how you try every damn day to make my life easier. I had no right to talk to you like that and all I want to do is take it back. Youâre perfect, so what if you sometimes canât remember a few words here and there? Thatâs no reason for me to jump down your throat.â
He thought heâd done a good job in his apology thus far, especially considering his extenuating circumstances, and so it was to his surprise that he heard a faint sound of discomfort across from him in response to it, and when he turned to look, he was shocked to see her with silent tears streaming down her face, again wringing her hand over her chin. Her posture was slightly curved, and her shoulders bunched with the sobs she was fighting back. His heart all but stopped. Had he said something wrong?? He was trying to make this better, not worse! Oh God what the fuck was wrong with him??
But before he could ask to check, Maria was responding in an extremely strained voice which wobbled in the back of her throat, which absolutely killed Rory to hear,
âWas everything you said before true? Like do you really feel like Iâm a burden to have to work around? I never wanted to make you feel that way, and the fact you thought of saying those things even if you meant to or not kind of proves you to a degree think that way.â She flicked the indicator and finally took the closest exit off of the highway, sniffling, âAnd I really donât like when you get angry like that. I know you wouldnât hurt me, but that doesnât mean I enjoy being what you take your anger out on. Why do I deserve that, dear, itâs not as if this is the first time?â Â
The sight of the group of fast food outlets approaching in the distance caused a thrill of hopefulness to course through him, and perhaps that was what gave him the idea for his response. Things were about to much easier to cope with, and that allowed him room to think without having to operate entirely in survival mode. She hadnât needed to take the exit, she could have left him waiting, so he would use the same consideration for her. Taking a moment but nothing more to think, he awkwardly leaned sideways, careful not to disturb the various messes either cooling atop or beneath him, and laid his head gratefully on her shoulder. Â
âTe amo. A veces no pienso, y eso es algo de lo que debo ser mas consciente.â
The car shunted to a halt in the haphazard parking job Maria had performed, and without looking at him, Rory felt her body relax as she rested her own head on his, breaths still coming shaky but to a far lesser degree. She almost seemed relieved, and she certainly wouldnât be the only one. Â
âEso es todo lo que podria pedir, amor, solo un poco mas de pensamiento. Gracias, mi amor, gracias,â Maria spoke in a faint sigh, as if an almighty weight had been lifted from her chest, and Rory couldnât be prouder to behold in such a thing. They would be alright.
âMe duele el estomago...â That was an understatement and a half.
Maria giggle-snorted, straightening back up and rolling her shoulders.
âI bet,â the language switch hit Rory like whiplash, âCome on, pretty boy, letâs get you cleaned up and get going, Iâll call ahead to make sure they turn down the bed for you.â
And with that pet name Rory truly knew they were okay. He would do better, and be better, to keep her calling him such lovely things for years to come. Anyone who can witness their partner being so overtly gross and still call them pretty was one worth keeping, indeed. Â
What had he ever done to deserve her? Â
