Destiny, Compromised
Chapter 10
Disclaimer: I don't own anything much—just a little condo in the 'burbs—and definitely not Sailor Moon.
Ami slithered away from the toilets and managed to grasp the knobs of the bathtub. It took her a moment, but she managed to adjust the stream to the right temperature and stopped the drain. Then she slumped against the side of the tub, oblivious to all but the apparent roaring of the tub and its chilly side pressing against the skin of her lower back, where her black tee-shirt had ridden up. Curling her fingers around the nape of her neck, she rolled her head around in circles, trying to relax, but she couldn't—not with the nausea curdling the contents of her stomach. Above the sound of the water thundering into the tub, she heard pounding on the bathroom door.
"Ami? Ami! Aren't you ready yet?! Come on, it's getting late!"
She crawled over to the door and slid the lock out of its place. Then she maneuvered out of the way so she could pull the door open from her position on the floor. One of her roommates—Heather, a graduate student in Psychology—towered over her, with her arms folded and her ultra-glossed lips pursed.
"I don't think I'm going," Ami croaked as she tilted her head back and leaned against the cabinet under the sink.
Heather crouched down. Even the cheap bathroom lights caught the sequins on her halter top. She laid the backs of her fingers across Ami's cheek. "Oh my gosh, what's the matter with you?" she huffed. "You're all clammy and pale!"
"I'm sick—really sick. I can't go out tonight."
The bathroom door gradually finished swinging open, which revealed Ami's other roommates—Kendra and Cherie—flanking Heather's sides. When they saw Ami hunched over on the bathroom floor, they rushed forward, their faces contorting with concern.
"Ami, what's wrong?" Cherie said over the babble of the filling bath.
Shaking her head, Ami answered, "I think I just got a stomach bug or something. I'm just going to rest tonight. Don't worry." But with that, she writhed in pain and scuttled over to the toilet bowl. Its lid was already lifted. She heaved once before she vomited into it. None of the other girls were enrolled in medical school, so all of them immediately cringed away. Even Heather shot back onto her heels, wobbling on their narrow points.
As she hefted her purse onto her shoulder, Cherie said weakly, "Well, feel better."
Heather turned toward the front door, which was visible from the threshold of the bathroom, and then turned back. "Wait, what about that guy—the one that was supposed to meet you at the club?"
Bracing herself against the toilet, Ami twisted her head a little to look up at her roomies. "Oh, Zach? Bring me my phone, and I'll call him. He'll know not to expect me."
In a flash, Cherie slipped into Ami's room and back out, handing Ami's little mobile phone over to Heather. Heather relayed it into Ami's cold, sweaty palm. Murmuring her thanks, she began dialing right away. The three girls shuffled collectively toward the front door to the apartment, each waving to Ami awkwardly before they slipped out as quickly as though they feared she might call them back.
But she didn't. Instead, she stood up and gripped the edge of the counter while another wave of nausea passed. Once it had, she turned off the running bath water and then hit "call" on her cellular phone.
Zach was a boy that frequented a local café where Ami always studied. She had gone there once during her first week after moving in while she was in search of a great sandwich and a cup of tea—somewhere that wasn't Starbucks. So, she perused the neighborhood in search of such a place and founded it only two blocks from her apartment complex. It was roomy and quiet, with little circular tables clustered at the back. Though there was live music on the weekends—which made is busy—it was an excellent place to study on weekdays and most evenings, so it soon became Ami's favorite haunt.
Zach stopped by there at about the same time Ami did each Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday, so it wasn't long before the two began conversing. But when Zach asked her out for the first time, he got fidgety and even went slightly pink in the cheeks. He had learned how to say, "Will you go out with me?" in Japanese, especially for her, even though she could understand the question perfectly well in English.
Tonight would have been their fourth date officially. As the phone rang in her ear, Ami actually felt very sorry having to let him down. Nothing terribly exciting had happened so far, but her roommates—from whom she generally held nothing back—continually assured her that tonight would be positively definitive. With a wink and a nudge, Cherie even mentioned that should Ami want to bring him home, they would all continue clubbing or go to a bar until they received a green light from her to come home.
Ami laughed it off then, but when she heard Zach's voice on the other end, saying, "Hello?" she would have given almost anything for that to be the end scenario for her evening. Since Darien, she had hardly felt like a human being around the opposite sex.
She cleared her throat and caught the bitter taste of bile on her tongue as she did so. "Zach, it's me, Ami."
"Hey!" he said excitedly.
Before he could say anything more, she breathed and blurted out, "Listen, about tonight—I can't make it. I think I have the stomach flu or something. I'm really sick."
"Oh." Just that single word conveyed just how heartily disappointed he felt. She may as well have said she never wanted to see him again. "Okay, I understand." He didn't. "I'll see you another time then?"
"Yeah, totally." Ami's hollow voice didn't convince herself, so she added, "I'm sure I'll be feeling better by next weekend."
Feeling encouraged, Zach chuckled a little. "Okay. Well, get better soon. I'll call you."
"Okay. Thanks for understanding. 'Bye." She hung up and passed her hand over her face. After sighing, she scrolled through her contacts for a second before pressing the green button on her phone again.