Unfortunate Discovery
TW: emeto, brief food descriptions
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It was supposed to be a fun night out. They had just finished the final day of shooting for a short film and gone to a nice restaurant, and now Lucas felt sick to his stomach.
Armando was driving half of the crew—himself, Penelope, Lucas, Steven, and Ethan—on the two hour drive back to campus. Lucas, being the skinniest, was stuck between Penelope and his brother Steven in the back seats. It had only been a few minutes since they had started the trip.
With every minute that passed, Lucas’ stomach got more upset.
I don’t get carsick, so it can’t be that… and I don’t have any other symptoms, so I don’t think I’m actually sick…
He tried to figure out what could be making him feel so awful.
Did I just eat too much? I don’t think so…
The pressure of his stomach against the inside of his abdomen just kept getting stronger as more minutes went by.
Did I eat something I don’t usually eat? Let’s see, steak, rice, no, those are fine…
He leaned back in his seat to try to get more comfortable. It didn’t help. He leaned forward. It didn’t help.
Avocado? I guess I don’t usually eat that much of it. That could be it.
He tried to lean to one side somehow. It didn’t help.
Nothing was working. He held his seatbelt out from his body, which helped a little bit with the pressure.
“You okay, Lucas?” Penelope asked, breaking from her conversation with Ethan and Armando.
“Yeah, my stomach just feels a bit…” he shook his head, trying to think of the right way to describe it. “…bad.”
“How bad?” she pried.
“Are you gonna barf?” Steven teased him.
“I might just barf on you,” he quipped back.
“Seriously, though, so I need to get off the highway?” Armando asked.
Lucas thought about it for a moment.
“Yeah, probably,” he answered.
“Okay,” Armando said with a sigh. “You better not ruin my car.”
“Are there any plastic bags or anything in here?” Ethan wondered.
“I don’t think so,” Armando answered.
Ethan checked the glove compartment as Armando took an exit to get off the highway. The GPS voice started telling him how to get back on the highway.
“Ethan, could you turn that off and change it to avoid highways?” Armando requested.
“Sure,” Ethan said. “It needs your passcode.”
Armando skillfully typed his passcode without looking at his phone.
While Ethan messed with the GPS, Lucas tried to figure out whether he was really going to be sick or not. The feeling was right at the point where he couldn’t tell whether it was going to stay the same and eventually subside, or get worse and make him double over.
If it gets any worse, I’m definitely going to throw up.
It got worse. His stomach started to turn.
“Pull over,” he mumbled.
“What?” Armando asked.
“He said pull over,” Penelope told him urgently. “I think he’s going to throw up.”
“Oh, shit,” Armando said.
They were in the middle of a three lane road with a decent amount of traffic. He looked around for an opportunity to change lanes.
Don’t barf in the car, don’t barf in the car, Lucas repeated to himself, trying to prevent it from happening with sheer force of will.
Penelope noticed Lucas’ face getting pale and his cheeks getting flushed. His stomach churned and gurgled more and more. He pressed his hand over his mouth.
“If you don’t want your car ruined, you better get over, Armando,” Steven warned him.
“I know, I’m trying!” Armando snapped.
He cut aggressively into the left lane. Someone honked at him, but he didn’t care. Penelope unbuckled her seatbelt and got ready to jump out of the car. Lucas did the same while Armando pulled the car over onto the shoulder.
As soon as the car stopped, Penelope opened her door and gracefully hopped out of the way. Lucas clambered over the seats and practically fell out of the car. He staggered forward a few steps, then braced himself with his hands on his knees.
He gagged loudly, but nothing came up.
“Come on, get it over with!” Steven yelled from the car.
Lucas wished it was that easy. The pressure was unbearable. He heaved again, but still, nothing.
Steven mocked his retching noises. That finally sent him over the edge. His stomach violently contracted, forcing a large amount of his dinner up his throat and onto the grass.
He tried to spit out the awful taste. He could hear Steven laughing in the background.
Another painful heave sent up a mouthful of half-digested food. He spat again.
“Do you think it was something you ate?” Penelope asked, now standing next to him.
“Probably,” he responded.
Mucus dripped from his nose. His face was hot with embarrassment. He wondered how many people were looking at him from their cars.
He gagged again, puking up only a small stream of mucus and saliva.
He took a deep breath, letting the spit drip out of his mouth.
“Do you think you’re done?” Penelope asked gently.
“Maybe.”
He stood upright. He still felt queasy, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it was before. The pressure was almost gone.
“Yeah. I feel so much better now,” he told her.
“That’s good.”