Resisting the Player -- [Completed - Unedited]

Chapter 20: We Have To Tell Her

I wake up Saturday morning and immediately untangle myself from Aaron, running to my bathroom.

I kneel in front of the toilet as I throw up, unattractive sounds coming from my mouth as I expel the contents of my stomach, which is only the soup from early this morning.

Maybe that was a mistake.

I feel someone walk up behind me and gather my hair into a ponytail, holding my hair back as I continue to throw up.

Once I'm done, I sit back on my heels as Aaron rubs my back, his hand moving in a circle.

"This sucks," I whine, moving to stand up.

I struggle with the simple action, feeling light-headed, and Aaron places his hands under my arms to lift me on to my feet and place me in front of my sink.

I grab my toothbrush, place it under the water, put a strip of toothpaste on it, place it under the water again, and then start brushing my teeth.

Aaron watches me through the mirror, leaning against the doorframe behind me, as I brush my teeth as I think the ABCs slowly––forwards and then backwards––and then I spit into the sink, rinse my mouth and toothbrush, and walk out of the bathroom.

I lay down again, and after Aaron covers me, he feels my forehead, determining if I still have a fever. "You're still a little warm," he mutters. "But I think you'll be fine. Do you have any antibiotics?"

"In the medicine cabinet in the bathroom."

He moves away, goes into my bathroom for a minute or two, and comes back with an Ibuprofen pill and a bottle of liquid Pepto Bismol.

I take the pill, swallowing it without any water, and I groan when Aaron starts to pour the thick, pink liquid into the small measuring cup that was on the lid.

"This is going to help with the nausea, Cassie."

"But it's disgusting."

He continues pouring slowly, ignoring me.

"I'll be fine without it, Aaron."

Ignored.

"Please don't make me take that."

He looks up at me when he's done pouring the right amount and hands the little cup out to me so I can drink it. "Just drink it."

I pout and take the cup, sitting up and swallowing a few times, preparing myself for the feeling of the disgusting liquid going down my throat.

Aaron rolls his eyes. "It won't kill you, Cassie. Drink it."

I take a deep breath, bring the cup to my mouth, and tip my head back, causing the artificially bubblegum flavored liquid from Hell to run down my throat.

I swallow––with difficulty, mind you––and make a sound of disgust as the taste kicks in.

"How do they even think this tastes like bubblegum?"

Aaron laughs. "Would you rather it be grape-flavored?"

I think back to the grape-flavored liquid medicine I used to have to take, and I shudder.

"Exactly," he tells me. "So stop complaining."

Unlike previous Saturdays, I'm not struggling to keep my eyes open, and it's a weird feeling because, normally, I'm dead until around two.

In the afternoon.

That's probably why my sleeping habits are so bad, to be honest.

"What time is it?" I ask Aaron as I lay back on my bed, wanting to go back to sleep even though I'm not tired.