A few moments of silence passed between them before it was broken.
"Stop the car," she murmured softly, using all her energy to quell what was rising within her.
Peter panned his head to the right and spoke. "Look, Livia, I'm sorry; I shouldn't have blown up at you," he sighed, suddenly feeling ashamed for yelling at her in her present condition.
"Peter, plea--," she began but he cut her off. He took his eyes off the road and stared intently at her.
"No, I should have--," he started but was interrupted.
"Peter, I'm going to be sick!" Olivia yelled, clutching her stomach and wincing in pain.
It took him a few seconds to fully register what she said but when he did he acutely swerved the car to the right lane and stopped abruptly. Olivia was starting out the car before he cut the engine. Still disorientated and now in pain, she partly stepped and partly fell out of the car. Her whole body convulsed as she emptied the contents of her stomach which only consisted of liquor, medication, and M&Ms.
It wasn't the gagging noises that made his stomach flip. Rather, it was the uneasiness he felt while debating whether or not he should help her or give her some respected space. He wanted to save her the embarrassment, but he also wanted to physically be there to ease the discomfort. He winced as he heard her purge once more.
Olivia felt herself being pulled up from dirt and gravel. Her hands tattered and scraped from the fall. She felt the soft puffs of warm air on her exposed neck as he guided her back to the car. She swore she heard a low "you've got it, just go easy" escape from his lips but she couldn't be sure.
Once in the car, she closed her eyes and prayed for the vertigo to end. She nearly jumped when she felt him reach over her and buckle her in. Time was fucking with her and all she could do was bite her bottom lip and pray she wasn't about to have another episode that would leave her seizing once more.
"Livia, it's just the alcohol. Just relax. We'll be home soon," she heard him speak softly. If her mind wasn't spinning like the Tilt-O-Whirl, she would have gazed her eyes toward him and seen the concern and worry etched on his face.
A cool compress gently lay on her forehead, easing her from a deep slumber. Momentarily, she felt the cool, silken feel of the comforter wrapped around her bare legs. With a drifting thought, she found the new sensation queer; her comforter certainly didn't feel like this. But as soon as the thought breezed to the forefront of her consciousness, it was swept away by slumber knocking.
Peter perched himself at the foot of the bed and watched her physically release and relax when he placed the cool cloth on her head. Now that she was in a more restful slumber, his anxieties escaped with one large, heavy sigh. He grazed one large calloused hand over his eyes and rested it on his temple. Gazing at the small, illuminate clock that read 2:14AM, he dragged his hand down to his mouth where it fidgeted with his lips. He debated the thought. With his hand reaching his temple once more, he decided it was best. Gently as possible, he smoothed the comforter underneath him and laid down next to her. Just ten minutes. He would only rest his eyes for ten minutes and then he'd wake and make his way to the next room. Now a mere nine inches away from her face, he selfishly seized the opportunity to study it. He indulged himself in the brazen fantasy where fingertips traced and lips colored in. Just ten minutes he repeated silently as he closed his eyes.
