Disclaimer, etc., in chapter 1.

Okay, this is the end. Not that previous chapter. Hope it works and apologies to the squeamish.

I'm awake, didn't know I was asleep.

Horrible retching noises from the bathroom down the hall. Dry heaves. Makes my stomach twist. Ugh. I want to shout at him, puke something, it'll feel better! Would make me feel better.

I feel like puking's a damn good idea, but I don't wanna. Still really comfy, if he would just quit those awful heaves and coughs and pants and groans…

How many times I've been there. I'm not drunk enough to forget now. Add up all the times I've been there. Useless stomach turning.

My skin crawls.

I smell it too. It's not a smell that's hard to recognize. Probably woke himself up puking. I'd look for the splatter but I'm really not interested.

I close my eyes. Want to close my ears too.

Oh, for the love of—puke something!

I must've said it out loud, cause he calls back, "Think I'm not trying?"

"Not by the sound of it," I call back.

More of that awful damn noise.

I wince. Doesn't get grosser than this. Not even the stink of rotting flesh or the foul-smelling watery diarrhea diagnostic of some food poisonings. I can lick someone else's puke, but this…

Finish already!

Guess I said that out loud too cause a loud, frustrated groan and weak coughs follow it.

"Drink from the tap," I call. "And bring a bucket."

I'm not sure we have a bucket. But if we do, he'll know where it is.

"You're so supportive," he calls breathlessly. "I might think you give a damn."

I hear the tap. Thank God. No more of that horrendous gagging.

Bile shoots up my throat. I swallow. I'm not him.

I do have to pee, though. I'm not getting up from this couch. Two empty bottles in arm's reach…

Feels so good, I can't stop a moan. Tilt my head back, eyes closed. Feels so good.

"That's disgusting."

Open my eyes. Don't move my head. He's pale, found that bucket, standing behind the couch sort of leaning over me.

Don't care. Squeeze the last bit out, close my eyes, come on, come on, there.

Blink at him. He hasn't moved.

"You're one to talk," I say.

The scent of urine replaces that of bourbon puke, which I've located maybe a foot or two to my right.

He glances at the exact spot I'd picked based on the wafting of the smell. Eww.

"Didn't do it intentionally," he says. Unlike you, his eyes add.

Then he looks ready to puke again. I vow that if he pukes on me I will exact swift and lingering revenge.

He breathes heavily for a moment, then the look is gone. He's just glaring tiredly at me.

"I'm going to bed."

"Gonna curl up with the bucket."

"It's your fault."

"Never said it wasn't."

"All this because you were bored."

"Got laid, didn't you?"

"Didn't need to get drunk for that."

I shrug. Can't argue there.

"Next time you're bored, let's just rent a movie or give each other paper cuts or something."

I blink up at him. He woke me somewhere between drunk and hungover. Still too comfy to move, not drunk enough to think everything's funny.

If he's expecting an answer from me… Well. I blink. That's his answer.

His head disappears. I track him peripherally to the kitchen. Getting more water knowing him.

I don't wanna, but I make myself lean forward to put the bottle on the table. Room's gonna stink of piss if I don't cap it but I don't see the cap and piss smell is better than puke smell.

I close my eyes. Just fine sleeping like this, sitting up, lights on, TV on. Not the first time, won't be the last.

I'm not bored. And because of that, I have no regrets. Even the headache I'm gonna have and the ways he'll make me suffer with it. Don't care. Just hope I can sleep through the pukes now he's reminded me how tortuous they are.

I hear him marching toward the bedroom. Got the bucket I hope.

"Yeah, I do, shut up."

Said that out loud too I guess.

"Goodnight House."

"'Night Wilson."

No, wouldn't want to sleep next to him right now.

Feel myself sinking, falling, so comfy, so comfy, smile a little, know I'll sleep hours and hours, make it up to him tomorrow, no regrets.

Then I remember the thong.

Damn.

Damn.

Okay, one regret.

I'll make it up to him tomorrow in a big way. Tell him instead of a movie, the thong.

Yeah. That thong. Tomorrow. Make it up to him. Make it up huge. Promise I will.

Cause I know I'll be bored again soon.

END