Speak Now | Shawn Mendes

0.8

[ I dedicate this chapter to a few
lovely friends in a group chat. you all
know who you are. ok! ]

His body feels warm, oddly, against mine. Having been drunk I would have expected him to be unsteady on his feet. But he wasn't. It was like he could stand on his own but he didn't want to. Kind of like he wanted me to support him even though he was capable of standing on his own.

"I'm sorry it came out that way," Shawn mumbles in my ear. "But you are, you are really good at giving hugs."

"Thank you." I reply as I rub my arm up and down his back. "Are you okay enough to stand?"

"Stand what?"
"Stand up, silly!"

"Oh! Yeah, I think so." He says.
"I'm letting go of you now."

I fall back on the heels of my feet and my hands slowly go from his back, to his forearms, then to his hands. Shawn stands up straight and his eyes look lazy and glossy.

"Are you good?" I ask.
"Tina, you are a good friend. Are we friends?" Shawn replies.

"Yes," I nod, "we're friends."
"Oh, good." He smiles at me.

I let go of his hands and he's composed himself enough to stand up. We look at one another and his smile fades into a serious stare. He looks deeply at me and I think, uh oh, he's going to kiss me. Before I can even step back, Shawn hunches over and pukes on my feet.

I gasp and close my eyes as I felt the chunks and liquid slosh down onto my skin and my white pointe shoes. The smell is terrible and I don't know what's worse: my shoes being ruined, my feet in a pool of his throw up, the smell, or knowing I'm going to have to take care of him while Grace was at her parents hotel. He's bent over, throwing up more, but he has his hands at my waist. I look away and place my hands at his shoulders.

"Let it out," I say. It's the only thing you can say to someone puking their guts out. Only liquids are now coming out.

Shawn coughs and his grip on my waist gets loose. He lets and stands up, looks me in the eyes, and says, "I am really sorry about your shoes."

"It's okay." It really wasn't. Pointe shoes were expensive and dancers were underpaid. These cost a lot, especially with my foot type and the color. "I can borrow Grace's for opening night." There was absolutely no way I would be able to save enough money in a month for opening night.

"I can take them off your feet. I don't want you to touch my, um, my throw up." He says. Before I can even refuse or think of what to say, Shawn grabs my waist and lifts me up onto the counter. It amazes me how even after puking, he can pick up a whole person like nothing.

Shawn stumbles over to a drawer and takes out a small pair of scissors that I easily recognize as the ones Grace uses when breaking and sewing in her shoes. My heart breaks a little bit as I realize that he's going to cut the elastics and ribbons off. He grabs my foot and cuts off the fabrics and both of the shoes loosely fall off.

"I'm sorry I threw up on you." Shawn says.

"Want some water?" I ask.

"Yes, please." He says. I hop off the counter and shake my feet to remove the little chunks of the food that had been upchucked onto my feet. "You can shower if you want. Or take a feet bath." Shawn starts to laugh and I raise an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, I just thought of-of you as a t-tiny bird with regular feet."

"Why don't I get you that water." I walk over to the cabinet and reach for a glass, then head over to the sink and fill the cup halfway with water. I pad over to him and give him the water. "Drink all of this. Not at once, I don't want you to throw up on me again."