An excerpt from a recently finished WIP:
“Pearl? Are you feeling better?” He sounded truly concerned which, if she hadn’t been feeling so doggoned sick to her stomach, would have made her feel nice.
Hugging her arms to her chest she nodded, then realized her mistake. With her eyes closed her brain felt like it was being buffeted about in a big bottle of blackness, where she couldn’t see the walls until she crashed into them. Her eyes popped open, frantically seeking a reference point to cling onto while her brain stopped spinning.
What she saw was a white plastic bag filled with polystyrene containers that obviously contained the remnants of their lunch -- Rex’d had their orders packed up to go. Her stomach gurgled it’s discontent.
“Pearl?” His worry was touching … and so were his hands, and with horror Pearl realized that Rex had grabbed her shoulder with the hand that still dangled a takeout bag from its wrist. The smell of the food hit her senses with a force of a freight train and she lost all control she had on her stomach. With an inelegant “yurk” she instinctively leaned forward, and lost what little lunch she’d eaten, along with the remains of her breakfast … all over the front of Rex.
One more lurch and her stomach fully emptied itself, and she wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. “Oh, that feels so much better.” She reached out behind her for the car, and used it as support as she stood upright again.
Rex hadn’t moved. He stood on the sidewalk in front of her, his arms out to the side, a plastic take out bag dangling from each hand as he looked down at himself with what seemed to be fascinated disgust.
His jeans were soaked from the knees down, and coated with half digested lumps of food, but his sneakers had taken the worst hit. His feet fairly swam in a lake of vomit, and his socks looked squishy as they began to soak up the liquid.
“Ohmigod. Rex! Oh, I’m so sorry.” Pearl gasped out. Appalled at what she’d just done, her hand flew up to cover her mouth as it gaped in shock.
Rex sighed overdramatically as his feet squished in his shoes, “So much for turning my day around.”
The older, dark-haired gentleman that’d seated them at their table, came rushing out of the restaurant with a bucket, and a kindly looking lady about the same age followed him with a bottle of water and a handful of damp napkins. With kindly comments about his pregnant wife doing the same thing to him many years ago, and motherly pats and encouragement to drink, the pair proceeded to clean them down.
Her perverse digestive tract -- now emptied of what ailed it -- rumbled and told her it was now hungry. Pearl eyed the take out bags as she took another sip of water and wondered if Rex still wanted his lasagna.