“I want you out of here!” I point to the door. “Go!” I shout, but he doesn’t listen.
Bile rises to my mouth, and I rush to the bathroom, flipping the lid of the toilet.
I should have just left it up. I spend more time with my head bent over the porcelain bowl than anything else in that room.
I startle when he rests a hand on my back.
I’m sweaty and gross.
I flush and wash my hands. “You want to do something for me?”
He stares at me.
“Get me mouthwash.”