Len slowly walked into the living room, trying to keep his head down, but still avoid suspicion. Thankfully his parents were talking to each other, and weren't paying close attention to him as he sat down at the table. His mom looked at him after a moment.
"I got you some meatloaf, but I wasn't sure if you'd like the other stuff, so I figured you could decide if you wanted it or not," she told him, gesturing to the plate sitting on the table in front of him. Len looked down at it and nodded. There was only a lone piece of meatloaf on it, and they would get suspicious if he only had that on his plate. He reached for the spoon in the bowl of baked beans and scooped some onto his plate, also grabbing a roll as well. He decided it might be a good idea to nibble on the roll. Maybe the bread would absorb some of the excess stomach acid and settle his stomach a little.
"So how was school today, Len?" his dad asked. Len looked up at them, unsure of what to say. Here was his chance to just blurt out everything and then suffer through the several minutes of embarrassment before being sent off to bed with a bottle of pepto. Was it worth it to just bail out and accept his fate?
"It was fine," he mumbled. He looked down at the roll in his hand and took another tiny bite, doing his best to not overload his stomach. He'd probably eaten the equivalent of one normal bite, and his stomach was already feeling too full to eat any more.
"What did you do today?" he followed up. He took a hearty bite out of his meatloaf. Len couldn't look at him as he ate. The smell of the food was starting to get to him, and watching his parents eat would make him vomit right then and there.
"Nothing much," he replied. He set his roll down on his plate and picked up his fork. He began to cut his meatloaf into pieces, trying to stall so their attention wouldn't be on him anymore and he could pretend to eat. There was no way he could put the greasy, slightly squishy meatloaf in his mouth. The smell was already getting to him, the texture would kill him. He would just get up to get a glass of water and a napkin and put food in the napkin when they weren't looking.
His parents began talking to each other again, averting their attention away from Len. He decided to seize this opportunity and started to get up, when his mom stopped him.
"Where are you going?" she asked him. Len hesitated.
"Just going to get some water," he replied. He was starting to feel dizzy again. He hoped she would just let him go so he could lean onto the fridge for support.
"Oh, I can get that for you sweetheart," his mom said, catching him by surprise. She stood up and walked over to the cabinet and pulled out a clear glass, then went over to the fridge to put ice in it and fill it with water. Realizing that he missed his opportunity, he sat back down. His mom smiled at him and set the glass on the table in front of him, then took a seat on the opposite side of the table at her plate. She picked up her fork and cut off a piece of her meatloaf, glancing up at Len. She furrowed her brows.
"Len, honey, you haven't touched your meatloaf," she commented, catching the attention of her husband. "I thought you liked meatloaf." Len froze, knowing they'd begun to get suspicious of him.
"Ah, it's just a little hot," he muttered. His mom furrowed her brows even more. Something was definitely off.
"Really? I thought the food got a bit cold after waiting so long for you to come downstairs," she said. Len knew he'd been caught at that point. He just shrugged in reply, not bothering to come up with a better excuse. It wouldn't have worked anyway.
"You haven't really touched any of your food, now that you mention it," his dad added. "Everything okay?" Len nodded, not looking at either of them. Being nervous had made the nausea spike, and he was starting to feel hot. He was going to be sick. Len got up from the table and started to walk away, when his mom stopped him.
"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, a hint of firmness in her tone. It was a command to come back, despite being worded as a question.
"Bathroom," he mumbled. He needed to throw up now. He couldn't waste time talking. But he found it hard to continue walking. His limbs were getting heavy, and the bathroom suddenly seemed so far away…
"Have a seat," his mother instructed. Something was wrong, and she was determined to figure out what. Len absentmindedly went back to the table and sat down, resting his hand on his stomach under the table. The cramps were setting in. He couldn't choke it back for much longer.
"Is everything alright?" she asked. "It's not like you to not eat. Is something going on at school? Someone bothering you?" She stared him down, trying to see if she could figure it out by his body language. He looked almost like...like he was in pain.
He couldn't hold it back. Without warning, vomit spilled onto his lap and the floor, making his mom yelp in surprise. Len took in a deep breath before another heave overtook him. He was hunched over at this point, his stomach aching terribly from forcing out the tiny bit of food that was in his stomach. He heaved again, making no noise other than the slight splattering sound from the vomit hitting the floor.
His mom quickly pushed her chair back and ran into the kitchen, grabbing the trash can. She held it underneath of him after he finished another heave. He spit into the trash can and took in a few deep breaths, trying to get in as much air as possible before the next heave left him feeling lightheaded and dizzy. He winced as he heard the sound of his vomit hitting the bottom of the plastic bag and echo slightly, since it was empty. It only made him feel sicker.
"Honey…" his mom mumbled. She ran her fingers through his hair. "You could have said that you weren't feeling well…" Len's cheeks burned. He couldn't stand people seeing him like this.