"Can I do anything?"
I look up at him, leaning against the sink, not even looking at me. He asked because he's *supposed* to ask, it's the polite thing to do, not because he really wants to do anything for me. He wants me to say no. I briefly consider saying yes, asking him to make me some tea or get a cool cloth for my neck. Instead I moan "no" into the toilet bowl.
He looks at me as he straightens, I know I look awful, my pajamas have stains on them, I haven't washed my hair in days, my skin looks like hell.
"It's just morning sickness," he says over his shoulder as he leaves my tiny bathroom, not even big enough for a tub. "I'm heading to work. And, ah, you know how tired you are at the end of the day. I probably won't be stopping by this evening. You know, let you get some rest. So I'll see you tomorrow night?"
It's not really a question so I don't really answer. I hear the door close as I fill the toilet and empty my stomach once again.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
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