Hello! As it's the anniversary of Jeff's death today, I couldn't not write a little something. Not sure how long this will be, but I can't see it being more than three chapters. Hopefully I'll have another chapter up tonight, but it might end up being later in the week! Hope you enjoy this first chapter!
- Iris:) xx
Ethan moaned, shuffling around under his duvet as he began to stir awake from his slumber, mood immediately falling when he noticed the pounding head that greeted him. He sighed, rolling over so his face was buried in the pillow, sniffing and wiping the tear tracks from his cheeks. The images of the nightmare were fading from his memory now, but Ethan still felt shaky. He knew exactly why he'd had the dream, and why the events of it were so similar to the disasters of the day a year ago today. It was October the 4th, one year since the death of Jeff.
The young doctor let out another shaky breath, wincing as he sat up in bed and his throbbing head caused the room in front of him to spin. He grabbed his glasses from the bedside table, sliding the frames behind his ears. He stayed sat on the bed for a moment, twiddling his thumbs, then taking his glasses off, cleaning the lenses, and placing them back over his eyes, before sipping carefully at his water, then beginning to un-button his pyjama shirt, all in a feeble attempt to distract himself from the nausea that was settling itself into his stomach. Ethan was sure that he wasn't ill, and he knew that the cause of his sickness was him getting himself worked up over the anniversary.
Walking into the bathroom, Ethan once again removed his glasses, going over to the sink and splashing cool water over his face with shaky hands. He braced himself on the bathroom counter, knuckles clenched around the surface. His stomach was still swirling, and Ethan didn't think he could take it much more; his anxiety was definitely not failing to make itself known. He quickly dashed over to the toilet, swiftly lifting the lid and taking deep breaths to calm his stomach, leaning most of his weight on to the wall to his right.
Getting himself worked up to the point of feeling sick wasn't all that rare for Ethan, but he couldn't say that he often ended up throwing up because of it.
He felt panicked and hot, and his stomach was sickeningly turning and flipping. His fingers ghosted over the scar on the skin over his left ribs by mistake, and Ethan promptly gagged, stomach acid burning his throat, making the experience more painful than it would've been if he'd eaten yesterday evening. He coughed, back arching as his stomach continued to convulse, splashing more liquid into the toilet.
Breathing heavily, Ethan felt another wave of sickness wash over him, and he pressed a hand to his mouth, swallowing back the bile and wiping away the tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He panted for breath, gulping back more liquid until he eventually was forced to let himself gag, letting everything out into the toilet this time.
Ethan collapsed back into the wall once the nausea had subsided slightly, shakily flushing the contents of the toilet away and taking as many deep breaths as he could. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand - he would scold himself later for the lack of hygiene - Ethan weakly rose to his feet, grabbing his toothbrush and beginning to get ready for what was bound to be tough day at work.