#sympathy puke

[birdnamedenza]

„I need you to pull over!“

@sicktember

This was actually the very first story I wrote for Sicktember. For some reason, I hadn't ventured into carsickness territory before, even though I'm in love with the whole "Pull over!" trope. The urgency of the request and the instant turmoil it creates for everyone involved is just one of a kind. By the way, I have no idea why bickering friend groups are such a favorite of mine. It would mean infinite stress for me in real life, but it's such an entertaining and interesting dynamic in fiction.

TW: Vomiting, alcohol

All it took to ruin the day was one wrong turn. The fact that they were having a blast at the cinema only hours ago – completely forgotten. Their drinking games and mindless laughter at the club – a thing of the past. Now the atmosphere in the car was so dense it could be cut with a knife. Good thing no one seemed to have a knife at hand, they might have been tempted to use it.

Luka – the one at the wheel – was sporting a particulary grouchy pout, eyebrows knitted closely. Every now and then, he let out a grumbling noise to make sure all passengers were aware that he was in the worst of moods. Thien had been fallen asleep for a while, but after giving himself away with a rumbling snore, Tiago had woken him up via elbow in the ribs. After some bantering, it had now become quiet again on the backseats. Tiago stared into the pitch black night behind the window with a grim expression while Thien kept on tapping his foot.

This constant rhythm of impatience felt like a hammer drill deep inside of Isaiah’s bowels. He was stuck in the front seat, desperately trying to fall asleep ever since the heated argument had subsided.

„Why don’t you get a navigator when you’re too dumb to read street signs?“, Tiago had shouted once he realized they had missed the junction to the freeway and were now stuck on the long, winding mountain road.

„Why didn’t you warn me, huh?“ Luka had been pissed ever since they drew lots for the designated driver and his name had shown up. He had subtely accused Thien of cheating, then resigned to his fate, but not without the occasional passive-aggressive jibe. „Oh wait, it’s because none of you guys can hold your liquor.“

„Come on, you’re still not over staying sober for once?“, Thien had fueled the fire.

„You’re the ones who can’t stop bitching about this little detour.“

„Little detour?“ Tiago spat out his words. „We’re going to arrive an hour later, minimum. Maybe two, if you keep on crawling at such a snail’s pace. Can’t you just turn around?“

„Wow, I had no idea your brain was that fried. Like, do you have eyes or what? The road barely fits two cars, only way I can turn is by going down the hillside, if his lordship preferred so.“

Everyone had insulted each other for a while until they had finally resigned to annoyed silence. But still, Isaiah couldn’t get the rest his body craved. Every turn and twist of the narrow road caused a riot in his belly. His stomach had become a washing machine, sloshing around the mixture of drinks and popcorn and cheesy nachos he had consumed this evening.

It didn’t help that the night blocked out most of the outside view, depriving him of something he could focus on. Isaiah‘s pale reflection was staring back from the window, the sickly white skin causing his countless freckles to stand out even more. He had his middle-length red hair pulled back into a ponytail which tucked at his scalp, only adding to the headache. Maybe he should untie it, but then again, it would at least protect his hair from being coated in chunks if he actually had to hurl. Which he planned to avoid at all costs.

„Mom won’t let me borrow the car for at least two weeks if I’m late“, Tiago growled, apparently bugged by the lack of conversation – an argument seemed to be better than boredom.

„Because it’s my fault you still live with your parents. At 23.“ A new surge of anger caused Luka to take the next hairpin bend much more abruptly. Isaiah‘s stomach leaped up to his throat, forcing out a gag he tried to muffle against his arm. No one else seemed to be under the weather from the alcohol and he didn’t want them to notice. There was a reason they always placed the redhead in the front seat, him being notorious for not holding his booze quite so well.

„And it’s not my fault that none of you assholes has a car yet. You’re depending on mom’s mercy just as much as I do.“

„Why am I an asshole now?“, Thien protested. „You know I’m saving up for a car, but college is a money hungry whore.“

„Plus no one on the entire planet still has a curfew at fuck-ing twen-ty-three“, Luka added with triumphant rage.

„That’s because she’s worried about her car, not about me!“

The increasing volume of the pointless quarrel exascerbated the pounding behind Isaiah’s temples. He wanted to scream at his friends, tell them to shut up, but he was scared something different than words would escape his lips. At least the irate voices drowned out the aggressive gurgling of his stomach. His internal washer had officially entered the spin cycle. He tried to focus on his breath, but it only caused a wet hiccup, accompanied by the sour taste of bile. The hot liquid brought back a hint of nacho cheese, adding more fuel to the nausea fire.

Isaiah’s mouth quickly filled with warm saliva. He frantically tried to swallow it down, but couldn’t keep up with the pace. His palms were sweaty, sticky, just like his back. His face. Something deep inside of his stomach cramped. There was no way he could hold it in for much longer.

„Pull over“, he uttered, trying his best not to drool while he talked. A thick drop fell onto his lap.

„No way“, Luka growled. „We’re already running late, you can take a piss when we’re home.“

Isaiah let out a shuddery breath that turned into a belch, forcing up a mouthful of vomit. His cheeks bulged for a moment, but he was determined enough to swallow it right back. The taste was utterly disgusting, foul and bitter with a subtle note of artificial cheddar. It instantly caused him to gag again.

„You don’t understand. I need you to pull over. Now!“

„He’s about to blow chunks!“, Tiago alerted from the backseat. „Don’t you dare to hurl in my mother’s car!“

„Oh no, please don’t barf, please don’t barf…“ Thien sounded even more anxious than Isaiah felt. He was a sympathetic puker and he couldn’t stand the sounds, let alone the smell that came with the entire process. Isaiah’s body began to tremble. He didn’t want to spoil the car and humiliate himself in front of his friends, but the nausea became overwhelming.

„Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!“ Luka hectically began to look around, causing the car to sway even more. Isaiah doubled over with a sloppy heave.

„Why don’t you just stop the car?“ Thien almost screamed.

„What, right here? The road’s a winding mess, do you want me to park in the bend and cause a collision? Oh, and the mountainside is steep af and it’s right next to the asphalt, there is no place to fucking pull over!“

„There has to be a bag somewhere“, Tiago groaned and immediately started to search. „Hold it in! Do you hear me? You gotta hold it in!“

Isaiah tried. He really did. Too bad his stomach hadn’t received the instruction and kept on churning violently. His muscles contracted and, to his horror, he felt another wave of vomit pushing up his throat. Quickly, his hand flew up to his mouth, trying to contain the flood. His eyes widened in sheer panic as a trickle of his own sick was leaking between his fingers.

„Swallow it down!“, Tiago commanded. „There’s gotta be a viewpoint somewhere, we‘ll be there any minute.“

Even though the thought of forcing down the rancid slush once again was enough to make Isaiah’s body spasm under another retch, he tried to initiate one big gulp. The effect was astounding, just not in the way the redhead had intended. His stomach instantly went into reverse gear and shot up a massive gush of puke, spraying through his fingers like a waterfall. Isaiah moaned in pain and embarrasment before he lurched forward, only held back by the safety belt. He projectile vomited all over the dashboard, coating it in semi-liquid mush and chunks of soggy tortilla chips.

„I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you!“ Tiago’s voice had turned into an angry roar with a little bit of a suppressed sob mixed in.

„Give him a break, can’t you see he’s feeling sick?“, Thien bravely jumped to Isaiah‘s defense, even though he had already gagged at least twice himself. He tried to reach around the seat to awkwardly pat his friend‘s back.

„Thanks, I’ve noticed“, Tiago barked. „He knows he’s a lightweight, we all know, why did we even allow him to get so fucking wasted? Goddamn asshole.“

„Oh, shut up, Ti.“ Even Luka spoke up, usually being the only one who found it hilarious when one of his friends tossed their lunch. „You didn’t complain earlier, you just cared about your own luck of the draw.“

Isaiah would have been moved if he wasn’t shaken by another heave. He doubled over as much as he could and brought up a gooey mixture of melted cheese, sour cream and alcohol. It splattered onto his lap, forming a puddle that quickly seeped through the fabric of his pants. The seatbelt pressed uncomfortably against his aching stomach, intensifying the nausea.

„You’re going to clean this up with your bare hands“, Tiago growled. The very idea of it caused Isaiah to retch again. One of his hands was covered in vomit already, he couldn’t handle the thought of being forced to touch the lumpy mess he had just expelled. More off-white gruel swapped over his lips and heavily plopped on his legs.

„Come on, let him get it all out in peace. I’ll clean the car if you stop bitching about it“, Luka offered with a defeated sigh. „By the way, there’s the overlook you were talking about.“

„It’s a little too late now.“

„It’s not“, Thien burped, cupping his mouth with both hands.

„Ah, damn it. I hate all of you.“ Luka finally pulled over. Before they had stopped entirely, Thien scrambled out of the car and immediately started to throw up. All of the gargling and bubbling and gagging he produced caused Isaiah to heave again, spewing strands of bile that burned his sore throat and stubbornly clung to his lips.

„I’m… so sorry“, he mumbled, cheeks flushed, eyes closed. He didn’t want to look at his stomach contents that had soiled the car and himself. With his clean hand, he shakily wiped the puke stains from his face and rubbed it onto his clothes. They were ruined anyways. „I volunteer to be the driver next time.“

„Don’t worry about it“, Luka grinned and pulled up a scrunched up bag of chips from under his seat. „Guess who’s found a barf bag? You know, we still have to get you down this mountain. The only downside is that you and Thien might have to share…“

Isaiah moaned, sinking back into his seat. At least for this one dreadful night, he was determined to never touch alcohol again for the rest of his life.

[builder051]

Stop trying to help

Character info here.

“I still have two hours left,” Hannah warns, taking a tray of food from the counter that separates kitchen from dining room.  She grins at Ash over the steaming bowls of pho.  “Go sit.  Order something.”

“I’m good,” Ash says, almost knocking over a chair with his messenger bag as he hurries toward her.  “Can I help?”

“No,” Hannah laughs, rolling her eyes.  “Sit down and order something before my mom sees you.  Or she’ll make you leave.”

“Well, better hope she doesn’t catch me.”  Ash tosses his bag in the corner and scurries after Hannah, reaching to pull the bow on her apron.  She quickens her pace until the soup starts to slop over then edges of the dishes.

“Better hope I don’t drop all this,” Hannah says.  She uses her shoulder to steady the heavy tray and holds up one hand toward Ash.  It’s been a signal of theirs for a while.  Pipe down.  Take a breath.

Ash turns his smile to something more apologetic.  “Ok,” he says, stilling his feet and sending the restaurant into a stretch of quiet.

“Here we go.”  Hannah approaches the table of patrons, the only one that’s currently occupied.  “Pho for two and an extra bowl.”  She plans to give an excited glance to the overgrown toddler stuffed into the highchair between his parents, but the child has a disconcerting pallor, like a baby vampire, or at the very least, a child suffering from the flu.

“Oh.”  Hannah’s heart quickens even before the kid starts spit-talking.

“Mommy, I don’t feel good.”  The green goo around his nose and the globule of drool hanging lip to collar say as much.  So does the heady swallow and glassiness of his eyes.

“Oh, geez.”  Hannah cringes as the child heaves, spraying saliva and mostly digested cereal all over the high chair.  She quickly sets the tray on the next table over.  “Ash, you might wanna go.” 

“Huh? Why?”  He looks up from the leaf of the bamboo plant between his fingers.  Distractible as always, and this time, Hannah’s glad for it.

“Just, nothing.”  She steps lamely between her boyfriend and the family, now in full kerfuffle.  

“I’m so sorry,” the mother says, getting to her feet and dabbing at the mess with a napkin.  Hannah wishes she wouldn’t.  A mop and a bucket of bleach would do a better job.  Now the napkin will be toast, and the burgundy set is already missing a few.  Her mother will kill her if they have to switch to the black set before dinner hour.  And god forbid the settings on one table in the place not match with the rest.

“Hey, it’s no problem.  You wanna take your stuff to go?”  Hannah tries putting her smile back on.

The father starts to say something, but all Hannah hears is, “Oh fuck,” from over her shoulder.

She looks, and sees Ash with one hand over his mouth.  He looks apologetic, though, not sick.  “Sorry,” he says.

“Just go, honey, ok?” Hannah calls to him.  Then she addresses the mother.  “It’s ok.  I’ll get a bucket and mop.”

“I can do it,” Ash offers, already stepping toward the supply closet.

“Honey, don’t.”  Hannah follows him.  

“Why?  I can be helpful.”  Ash opens the closet too forcefully, the handle of the door bouncing off the wall.

“I know, but you don’t work here,” Hannah says, reaching for his shoulder.  “And I’m afraid of, you know...”

“What?”  Ash finds a broom and whirls around.  He’s pale under his freckles, and a limey tinge is creeping across his cheekbones.  He gulps and micro-gags, then whispers, “Fuck,” again.

“Yeah, that.”  Hannah quickly grabs a dirty bucket from the floor of the closet and holds it, patting Ash on the back as he throws up a mouthful of watery bile.  “You’re too sensitive, honey.”

“Am not,” Ash tries to insist, but he just retches again.

“It’s ok.  I love you that way.”  Hannah gives him a gentle hug, then presses the bucket into his hands and pushes him toward the bathroom.  “Wait in there, ok?  I’ll come get you.”

“Sorry,” Ash coughs.

“Honey.  I said I love you.”  Hannah closes the door after him.  She smoothes her apron and takes a deep breath, then turns around to deal with the rest.