𝒟𝐸𝒮𝒯𝐼𝒩𝒴

44 | Pain

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the gnawing pain in my stomach. It was sharp, twisting, and made me immediately regret not eating enough yesterday. I groaned softly, clutching my stomach, and shifted under the covers. The bed was warm, comforting, and I wanted nothing more than to drift back into the softness of sleep. But my stomach wasn't having it.

I had complained to Mateo about my stomach hurting last night but he said it was probably my body trying to adjust to me eating. 

I didn't even have the time to properly wake up before I bolted upright, my body practically betraying me as I lurched out of bed and stumbled toward the bathroom. My mouth watered in that way it always does when the nausea hits, and before I knew it, I was kneeling by the toilet, trying to hold my hair out of the way as my body emptied everything I had eaten the day before.

I felt Mateo behind me almost immediately, his presence warm and steady despite the situation. His hand reached out, gently gathering my disheveled hair into his fist, his touch soft and familiar. Then, without a word, he kissed the top of my head.

"Are you okay?" His voice was low, filled with concern as he kneeled next to me. He rubbed my back in gentle, soothing circles.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, still feeling the aftertaste of bile in my throat. "I don't know," I muttered, the words barely escaping through my dry lips. "I feel... horrible."

He stood for a moment, just watching me, before asking, "Did you eat something bad yesterday? Maybe at dinner?"

I shook my head, my hair falling in front of my face as I tried to gather my thoughts. "I don't think so. I mean, we had the pasta... but I've had that before. Nothing unusual. I don't remember eating anything that should've made me sick." I paused, trying to recall the day. "Maybe it is my body just adjusting to me eating somewhat proper again."

My stomach rumbled, louder this time, as if to agree with my theory, but it didn't make me feel any better.

"Whatever it is, it better not ruin our trip," I added, almost to myself. The last thing I wanted was to be bedridden, wasting away in a hotel room while Mateo took care of me. I would basically be ruining our trip—sometime away from all of Mateo's work. 

He didn't say anything right away, just brushed his fingers over my back again, comforting and grounding. "You're not ruining anything."

I managed a weak smile, but it didn't reach my eyes. I flushed the toilet, wiping my mouth again and standing slowly, still feeling the dizziness in my head. The idea of food was revolting, but my stomach was insisting that I needed something, anything.

"I'm starving now," I muttered, a strange sense of hunger mingling with the nausea. I didn't even know if I was hungry or just the kind of sick that makes you feel like you need to eat to somehow fix yourself.

Mateo didn't look convinced, but he wasn't about to argue with me about it. He went to the small table by the window, where room service had dropped off our breakfast earlier. He came back with a small bowl of fruit and toast. "Eat something light. You need to keep your strength up," he said, his voice gentle but firm.

I hesitated, eyeing the food like it was a potential enemy. But, like a dutiful patient, I took a small bite of the toast. It was dry in my mouth, tasteless. And before I could swallow, my stomach churned again, violently this time, and I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up again.

"Arabella," Mateo said softly from behind me, and I could hear the helplessness in his voice. He followed me into the bathroom once more, his hand on my shoulder as I stood there, leaning against the sink, feeling like a shell of myself. "Maybe we should see a doctor. Just to be sure."