Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Wren
It’s dark when I open my eyes, and I wish I could go back to sleep.
“Shit,” I mumble as I sit up.
I clutch my stomach as a thousand tiny knives twist inside me. The pain is subtle yet relentless, radiating in waves that make it challenging to think and hard to breathe.
A wave of nausea washes over me, catapulting me out of bed and urging me into the bathroom. I lock the door behind me, and my knees hit the tile, but the sharp pain doesn’t match the gnawing sensation in my stomach. I never throw up; that’s how I know something is wrong. I can walk around with my stomach roiling with nausea, but it never makes me hurl.
I grip the porcelain rim, my knuckles white from the strain. My body heaves with each convulsion, and it’s tearing my insides apart. Bile burns my throat and tongue. All I can taste is marinara, which intensifies my retching.
I’m meticulous with what I eat. I don’t have any other choice. Earlier this morning, I had yogurt and a bowl of fruit. Theo ordered pizza from the new restaurant for lunch, and we snacked on the leftovers throughout dinner. It’s the only outlier, and those assholes got me good.
A moment of reprieve comes, and I gasp for air. Sweat coats every square inch of my body, and my eyes start to water. Squeezing my eyes shut, I beg the universe that this is it, and my stomach will ease now that it’s emptied. But as the room swirls and blurs into white and chrome, the nausea returns but sinks lower and penetrates my muscles.
I flush the toilet, scramble to get my pants off, and sit on the cool seat. The pain radiates and stabs my belly. Each spasm is a torment that leaves me hot and weak. With my arms crossed over my middle, I close my eyes and hand any remnants of control over to my body.
My stomach empties itself, leaving me dizzy. Every cell in my body is trying to fight off the wheat, not knowing it’s damaging itself in the process. Everything hurts. The last time I was this sick was almost a year ago, so it was due time.
It’s fucking endless, and my muscles are protesting, aching from the strain, begging to be freed from this relentless purge. Every fiber of my being is focused on surviving this, waiting for the pain to subside so it can heal. But it will be hours before then, and the prospect makes me whimper.
“Okay, breathe,” I tell myself, relishing in the brief moment of peace.
She’s skin and bones!
I shake my head to try and dislodge her voice.
Two out of three.
I try to breathe and regulate my heart rate. This is far from over, and the last thing I need is Mom’s voice and anxious thoughts.
Nothing but a burden.
Shut up.
I love you.
It’s nothing but lies.
If you loved me, you would respect me!
Stop!
“Wren?” Theo taps on the door, scaring the image of my mother away. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve been better.” I try to laugh, but the pain churns in my stomach once again.
“Are you sick?”
Pressure builds in my intestines, but I try to hold it back. The last thing Theo needs to hear is me blowing up the toilet.
“Yeah,” I groan. “That pizza got me good.”
“Do you need anything?” His tone is soft and comforting.
“This to be over.”
“I know. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
“Maybe not right there?”
“Wren, I don’t care about?—”
“Please? Wait on the bed or something?” I plead as I lose the battle I’m waging.
“Okay. I’ll be on the bed.”
Theo’s shadow disappears, and the second it goes, I relinquish control again.
I’m used to being alone during moments such as this, but Theo is here, and while it is somewhat mortifying, his presence eases my discomfort.
Time is a blur. I’m unsure how much has passed or what day it is. The door from the bathroom opens with a click, and when I step back into the bedroom, Theo leaps to his feet.
“Are you okay?” he asks, placing his hands on my hips to steady my swaying figure.
Exhaustion has swept over me, leaving me a walking shell. I can’t feel my body. It’s part of the ethereal. My joints have dissolved, and my muscles are nonexistent. I don’t think my ears are working properly either. Because I swear Theo’s mouth is moving, but I can’t determine what he’s saying.
“What?” The singular word takes the final ounce of energy I had left.
“You’re so pale,” he says.
I want to collapse. This part of the floor looks rather comfy; I could sleep here for days. My knees wobble at the prospect, but Theo keeps me upright.
“Come on, baby girl. Let’s get you to bed.”
He wraps his arm around my middle, holding me against his body as we walk to the bed. At the sight of the blankets, I summon what little energy I have and crawl to my spot on the right-hand side. I moan when my head hits the pillow. The fabric is cold against my cheek. The bed shifts as Theo gets comfortable, and while I want to look at him, my body doesn’t allow me to move.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers while rubbing my stomach.
“Why?” I manage to say.
“I shouldn’t have trusted what the menu said. I should have called or?—”
“Shh, it’s not your fault. And don’t fight me about it; I don’t have the energy for an argument.”
With a long sigh, Theo lies on his side and presses his shoulder against my back. “I hate seeing you in pain.”
“It’s okay. I’m used to it.”
“I hate that you’re used to it.”
I chuckle softly and place my hand over his. “It’s okay, trust me.”
I used to wish I had a normal body. One that didn’t ache and revolt against me, but that was before I came to terms with my condition. Everyone is dealt a set of cards in life, and mine happens to include a disease that wreaks havoc on my organs if I eat the wrong foods.
“I’m always going to take care of you,” Theo murmurs into my back.
With a soft smile, I scoot closer to him. “I know.”
I want to say more, but my time has run out. Before I can give the command, exhaustion claims me.