I felt unbelievably wretched. My throat burned. I was practically doubled up with nausea. The cold tiles were raising goosebumps on my legs, but I ignored them. I leant against the toilet, my arms crossed and my head resting on the side. It was promising to be a long night, especially if, like I hoped, Edward didn't turn up. I didn't particularly want him to see me throwing up.

I raised a shaky hand and wiped the sweat from my forehead. I was burning up. I groaned groggily as I felt a wave of nausea flooded over me. I sat up on my knees and readied myself for the onslaught. I hated having gastro. It was probably my least favourite illness of all time.

The acid washing over my throat once again almost forced me to cry out. Surely I couldn't have had much more in my stomach; I'd eaten hardly anything at dinner thanks to my queasiness. I slumped over the toilet again and briefly wondered what the time was. I felt so feverish all over and yet I was shivering. Sickness is incomprehensible.

It was then that I felt cool hands brushing against my neck as they gathered my hair up and held it away from me. He didn't say anything; just kissed the back of my neck and rubbed my back as I threw up again. He left for a moment, but came back with a cool cloth and a drink of water. He rubbed the cloth over my face and cleaned up my mouth before handing me the water. He sat down as I took a sip and pulled me onto his lap, clutching me close and stroking my hair. I didn't protest.