Page 10

Then I Threw Up

The world rolled and swirled around Rafferty. And he hated it.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” he asked.

“You drank like a fish, and I get the distinct impression that you’ve been on land a long while,” éliott said, his voice coming from Rafferty’s left. Apparently, his arm was around the other man’s shoulders, and without his help, he was pretty sure the ground would be rol ling more.

“This is all your fault,” Rafferty declared as they walked off the elevator. Or at least he thought he declared it. It was startling to realize they hadn’t already been in motion, so who knows how the words actuall y sounded.

“Yes, it was me that made your Adam’s apple bob up and down,” éliott said dryly, or at least his version of dryly. He always sounded like he was about to burst out laughing.

Which made Raffer ty giggle.

Just then there was a tentative knock at a door. éliott’s hand lowered, so he must hav e done it.

“Hang on a second, someone is here,” came Helen a’s voice.

“Don’t open the door!” another, smaller voic e ordered.

“I’m not, I’m just looking out the peephole,” she respond ed softly.

éliott straightened, lifting Rafferty so his wobbling head looked more or less straight at the peephole. “Oh, dammit, it’s Rafferty.”

“Good to know how soundproof these doors are not,” éliott noted. “That cuts down on my amorous plans cons iderably.”

The sounds of the locks undoing cut off any follow-up questions, which spilled out of Rafferty’s head as fast as he could even form them.

He really wanted to throw up.

The flap at the bottom of the door scraped across the carpet as Helena opened it. He had hoped she would be asleep when he got back. How late was it? Or maybe how early?

“Good evening,” éliott said cheerfully, as if hauling back another man whose arm was draped over his shoulder was the most normal thing in the world. “I believe this belong s to you.”

Helena had a mobile phone in one hand on speaker, though when she got it back, he had no idea, but she hit a button and pressed it to her ear. “Charlie, I have to call you back. Rafferty just came back,” Helena said as she stepped back, pulling the door with her.

“Uh, I am sorry, but I cannot go any further,” éliott said, hesitating at the threshold.

“Oh, it’s okay. Please come in,” Helena said, gesturing welcome, but éliott shook his head.

“I had about as much as he did, and I am afraid I will disgrace myself if I stay here any longer. I am just down the hall, and so I will pass him to you and then take my leave to visit my own porcelain god.” éliott laughed and wavered on his feet.

Had éliott only gotten them this far on sheer w ill alone?

Before Rafferty could remember enough words to even form the question, he found himself more or less tossed into Hele na’s arms.

Despite having said good-bye already, she was still speaking to her friend on the phone, the gadget pinned to her ear with her shoulder, while she also tried to juggle his disorderly limbs. “No, Charlie. Don’t come,” Helena insisted as éliott slapped Rafferty’s back, then saluted sloppily and jetted down the hallway, pulling his card key from h is pocket.

Not wanting to be a burden to Helena, Rafferty pushed himself away, stumbling his way towar d the bed.

Letting him go, Helena went to shut the door, still talking to Charlie, a friend who was having trouble with his husband. That was all Rafferty remembered about him. The husband had harassed Helena a few times, though, and that Rafferty did care about, and he had a brief thought of leaving right that moment to go take care of that problem. If only he could remember where the door was.

Or how to stand up.

He did attempt to turn around to go, but Helena still had her hands on him and his flailing nearly knocked her over.

Throughout all of the jostling, Helena’s voice kept speaking to her friend. “Not until I know what’s going to happen next. Ideally, not until I’m back in my house. No, you don’t have to stay with us. We’re safe. At this point, you’d have to stay here at the hotel with me anyway, and I’m not paying for this r oom, so…”

She paused in her speaking while Rafferty flopped face forward and just lay there, grateful for something steady to focus on. The sheets smelled like detergent, which he found oddly comforting. But only for a few seconds, because he found that position difficult to breathe in, so he turned his head to look at Helena.

Still on the phone. “Get some sleep. I’ll keep you updated. I promise,” Helena swore, glancing at the clock by the bed. Rafferty followed her gaze, which turned out to be more difficult than it should have been. He also wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought it said it was 2:00 a.m.

A beep signaled that Helena had finished her call. She dropped the phone onto the table and moved to help Rafferty.

“Raffie?” Helena asked softly, brushing back his dark hair from his face so she could see him. “Honey, do you need to throw up?”

“No,” Rafferty said with a stubb orn whine.

“Okay, then can you slip off your shoes?” she asked, kneeling to help with that. He toed them off himself, but she cleared them to the side. “Are you sure you don’t need to throw up?”

He didn’t deny it this time. Instead, his shoulders jumped as he gagged at the idea.

“Yup, you’re going to erupt,” Helena said, seizing him under one shoulder, leveraging him up bodily to stumble-walk him into the bathroom quickly before it was too late.

Helena tried to help with stabilizing, but he bowled her out of the way once he got going. She had to let go before she got sideswiped off at the bathroom threshold. A second later, Rafferty’s entire back seized, and the contents of his stomach went into t he toilet.

Mostly.

It fel t so good.

Or rather, it felt like such a relief.

He did it a second time, and that hurt, his whole stomach aching as it used too much muscle to accomplis h the job.

The next oasis of relief came when he rested his cheek against the cool surface of the to ilet seat.

“Is that it?” Helena rubbed gentle circles against his back.

Why isn’t she disgusted with me? h e thought.

“Are you done?” she asked.

Rafferty didn’t reply, just stuck out his fist and gave a sloppy thumbs up.

“No more coming up?” she continued, needing reassurance even as she hit the handle and flushed his disg race away.

Rafferty still wavered in his squat but shook his head back and forth. Helena brought him a cup of something.

“No! No more bourbon,” Rafferty croaked, lifting his head toward the wet sound, his stupid brain not understanding liquid noise and assuming it was more firewater.

“Bourbon?” Helena asked, truly confused. “You were drinking bourbon?”

Rafferty shook his head. “No, not bourbon… Or yes, bourbon. We drank bourbon, but also brandy. It was for the gruau… eh, gruel I think you would say?” he said, lingering too hard on the l sound to try to make the word come out i n English.

“Gruel?” Helena repeated, wrinkling her nose. “Where did you find a place that serv es gruel?”

“We made it. I have a friend in this hotel’s kitchen,” he explained, as he looked into the cup and realized she had brought him water. He attempted to fumble at the cup of water, only for her to bat his hand away and hold it to his lips herself. He felt like how a wilted house pla nt looked.

“Yeah, but gruel?” Helen a pressed.

Rafferty shrugged. “Oatmeal. It’s like really fancy oatmeal.” He glared up at her, taking her aback. “What you think? People ate shit food before the modern times… all through the… the… history… times… whatever…” He pushed himself up, actually steadier on his feet now. At least, steady enough to use the door and wall to guide himself back out of the bathroom.

“I am sorry. I should not be speaking to you like that,” he said, the words he usually kept inside his head coming out his mouth with the ease of chickens flying free fr om a coop.

“It’s alright,” Helena lied, wrapping her arms aroun d herself.

Has she always l ied to me?

Rafferty managed to sink onto the bed, his thoughts discombobulated, and jumped to a similar thread to what they were just talking about. “Brandy with the nutmeg adds a warmth… Pairs well with the nutmeg. Makes it more together than apart. I should make it for you when we go home,” he muttered. “Add blueberries… golden raisins…”

“Okay, my love, let us get you to bed,” his savior insisted, tugging at his shirt. From the smell, he guessed he had gotten some puke on that, too.

Once the shirt left him, Rafferty flopped and curled, tucking the pillow hard under his head. Sliding up, Helena sat down beside him in the space left by the crook of his body. Gently, she brushed his hair back from his face, but he didn’t so much as twitch. It fel t so good.

“I’m sorry I dragged you to hell,” he murmured. Yet, hell didn’t seem so bad right now. And how could this be hell if she was here? The only ones who touched you in hell gave pain, but her touch soothed and eased. He uncurled, exposing his neck then his belly to her. She could consume him whole if she wished; he would cease to exist happily for her. Instead, she lay down beside him and tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder, her fingers resting lightly on his chest, making small circles in the chest hair there. Her hips tucked up against the side of his own, her crooked leg settling a delightful weight across h is thighs.

“Thank you for coming back,” she said.

He smiled and nodded. Of course, I came back. I’m sorry I ran, he thought but didn’t say. Talking had suddenly be come hard.

Instead, he moaned and covered his face with his hands. He could already tell his head would be pounding soon. It was pre-pou nding now.

“Do you want me to make it better?” Helena whispered, her fingers finding trails through his hair, sending soothing shivers through his sick head.

He could barely feel her shifting next to him until her wings spread out over him like a blanket. In his blurry vision, he saw the strange creature with its circle of horns lean over him with eerie gold eyes.

What color were Helena’s real eyes?

Stretching her gold-tipped fingers toward his temple, he could feel power gathering at those fingertips. She would heal him from the damage he had done to himself. A shiver ran th rough him.

She was about to perform anothe r miracle.

“This is going to make you feel a lot better , Raffie.”

Then his hand seized her wrist.

Helena jumped at his su dden move.

“No, don’t,” he said, but it was too late. The power gathered in her fingers snapped like static into him. Light glowed down his arm, leaving it with a pearlescent sheen so much like Helena’s own. Then it dimmed as it disappeared under his clothes, glowing brightly through the weave of his shirt. Then she leaned forward and kissed his forehead gently. The energy popped like a soap bubble, and Rafferty’s forehead burned warm, not painful, bu t intense.

“There. You’ll be alright,” she whispered, then gently touched his lips with hers.

He whimpered. He owed her now. “What do you want from me?” he asked, fighting to stay awake. “I n return?”

“Nothing. I just want you to be happy,” she promised, but her eyes… they glowed hungry gold in the dark of the room. It was the last thing he saw before he slipped into oblivion.