Flower Girl | h.s.

15.*

tw: emetophobics beware

Daisy

The immense pressure I feel on my body wakes me out of a slumber, a groan leaves my lips at the feeling of warmth is also being taken from me. Like the presence of a body has suddenly been shifted away. My thoughts haven't completely generated as I feel the heaviness of the bed start to rise.

    My eyes peek open, one at a time, as I gaze at the brightness that circulates the window. I can feel the warmth of the room starting to overpower me, almost like it comes over me quickly. The dryness in my mouth is incredibly uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as the spinning that is going on between my ears. I place my palm over my forehead, trying to get some coolness to my face, as I figure it may help alleviate the warmth.

    My mind wanders to the reality of the situation, back to who was in my bed with me until a few moments prior.

Then, the realization is clearer.

    The sound of retching in the bathroom is enough to startle me more awake, making me flutter my eyes open fully before I feel myself push up on my palms to hold myself up.

    Sitting up was a terrible idea, in fact.

The rush to my head has my body feeling like it's in vertigo. I shut my eyes, resting my hand overtop of them so I can try to manage feeling more on balance. When it doesn't help, I start to take a few more deep breaths.

    I'm wobbly, feeling the effects of the alcohol from last night washing over me as I try and muster my way up to check on Harry.

    When I sit up, I recognize that my lower half is still completely naked. Reminders of the night before settle in my thoughts as I feel the heat on my cheeks is not just from the warmth in the room anymore, but from thoughts of Harry's head between my legs.

    I remove myself from the sheets and towards the dresser that holds my underwear. I open it up, sliding on a new pair.

The length of his t-shirt hits at the mid-point of my thighs, covering just enough so that my ass isn't hanging out in the back. My legs start towards the bathroom on the opposite side of the room. The door is shut, and I figure that he's not really one to push away if I enter.

    When I push on the door knob, I'm met with an interesting vision in front of me.

He's sitting on the floor, forehead resting against his arms that are crossed on the edge of the toilet seat as he stares at the ground. I can't tell if his eyes are open, but from his body language, he looks rather content. His legs are sitting criss-cross, his hands resting on  It's unclear if he notices that I'm even there, as I can just hear his heavier breathing from looking like he's trying to concentrate on breathing rather than removing contents from his stomach.

He looks vulnerable, in a place where he needs someone to take care of him– and I'm completely alright with being that person this morning, even when I'm dealing with my own internal pain.

    "Hey there," I say just above a whisper realizing a large amount of noise that passes through our ears is definitely harmful this early on our hangover morning. I notice that his skin is a bit bronzed, more than I can recall from the night prior. I hadn't taken in his appearance like I had wanted to. The way that his body is slumped is activating his back muscles to pull upwards, which, if he weren't almost in a full fetal position right now, I'd appreciate this way more.

    Harry groans in response to me, but he lifts his head up to look at me, which is way more than I was asking for. His sleepy eyes are squinting at me as he tries to adjust to the light of the bathroom. I have to admit, it's a bit bright, the sun peeking its way in the smaller window by the shower.