"Food's ready, Dear!" Len's mom called out to him, her voice sweet. However, that day Len had not been taking high pitched noises well, nor loud ones. He winced as the sound grated against his ear drums, his head already throbbing. That had not helped it in the slightest.
He'd denied his unwell feelings all day, convincing himself he was just having an off day, and everything was fine. He powered through the headache during school, trying his best to ignore it. He laid his head down on the table during lunch, not hungry enough to force himself to eat. His friends were a little concerned, since he normally wolfed his food down, but shrugged off the worry when he told them he didn't sleep well the night before and let him rest. It was when he got home from school that he couldn't deny how bad he truly felt any longer. The moment he stepped into the door, he threw his backpack onto the ground and bolted into the bathroom, puking up what little food was in his stomach from breakfast. He was glad that the nausea hadn't occurred until school was finished, but instantly wished it was never there in the first place when another heave wracked his small frame. He felt empty, but his body still tried to rid itself of the nonexistent meal that was causing it grief. After a few dry heaves, he knew he was done for now, but the nausea still plagued him, forcing him to stay in the bathroom as he couldn't tell when it was a dry heave, or when he was actually going to start throwing up again. He dry heaved every few minutes, his stomach aching terribly from the effort already, and it wasn't half an hour before he was vomiting again. This time it left him shaking from weakness, the energy he'd expended from trying to force out stomach acid and saliva taking its toll on his body. He wanted to lie down, but he didn't think he could leave the bathroom without having to run back in within an hour. Even so, he was so weak and tired from the events that just occurred, that he wasn't sure he could even get up and walk to his room. He admitted defeat to whatever illness had infiltrated his body and lied down on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, closing his eyes.
He'd slept on the bathroom floor for who knows how long, before a high pitched voice rang in his ears, jolting him out of his uncomfortable sleep. He groaned before realizing he'd need to get up. Since his mom was home, and apparently food was ready, it must have been around six, since she got home at five thirty. He'd thankfully slept for a couple hours and didn't have to stay awake during that time, suffering through the nausea and headaches. However, he needed to get up. His parents were expecting him for dinner.
He never knew why, and no one ever questioned him, but he always got extremely embarrassed whenever he was sick. He didn't like to admit weakness to others, and if possible, he would hide away from others and deal with it alone. He got sick more often than people realized, and that was because he was very good at hiding it. The only times people saw him sick were the times he'd been caught before he had a chance to hide it, or when the pain was too intense to bare silently and he'd just broken down in tears in front of someone. Thankfully that didn't happen too often, because that just made the embarrassment a million times worse. In this case, he decided he would try to hide it. It was just an upset stomach and a headache. Nothing he couldn't handle. Slowly, he pushed himself up off the ground with shaking arms into a sitting position. One glance in front of him and he shut his eyes, blindly reaching for the toilet handle and flushing it quickly. He prayed he would forget what he saw so he didn't vomit from the memory.
He grabbed the edge of the sink and pulled himself up, resting for a moment before even thinking about walking. His head was fuzzy and he felt himself losing his balance a little. He probably stood up too quickly, he thought, but when the feeling didn't dissipate after several seconds, he realized he was going to have to add "dizziness" to the list of symptoms he was suffering from. Sighing silently, he glanced up at himself in the mirror. Thankfully his complexion wasn't going to give him away immediately. He was a little pale and flushed, but not so much that he couldn't play it off as being hot. He turned the sink on and splashed a little water on his face, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. He stood over the sink for a moment, debating on just skipping dinner to stay in the bathroom. The nausea was starting to return, and he felt like he wouldn't be able to make it through half an hour of being surrounded by the sights and smells of food. Another call from his mother brought him away from the thoughts of skipping, and he turned the sink off and dried off his face. He would have to go down there and just hope for the best.