“You didn’t,” I choked as the fork dropped from my mouth.

“Oh yes I did,” he tossed his head back with laughter. “In fact, I doubled the recommended amount.” I grasped my stomach as I clutched the edge of the table. I felt gurgling at the base of my throat and sprang out of the chair. The chair fell to the floor and the rug bunched up behind me as I scurried upstairs to the bathroom.

“Wait up for me!” He said excitedly as he followed me up, climbing two steps at a time to catch up to my pace.

I darted around the corner of the staircase and into the bathroom, making sure to lock the door behind me. His hands slammed on the door as he missed his entrance for his show. My knees buckled as I just made it to the toilet and began to violently hurl the contents of my stomach. So violent, that each wave would jerk my body and propel tears from my eyes. Cold sweat broke out on my forehead and neck as goosebumps spread along my arms. For a moment I felt as if the vomiting had began to stop. But it was only a pause, the glimmer of hope shattered, for my stomach started to gurgle again. Before the next episode, I hurriedly tied my hair up haphazardly to at least keep my hair from going into the toilet. The second my hands were free, the heaving of the tainted meal commenced for round two.

“So how are you doing? No doubt you’re experiencing absolute hell.” He taunted, in which I only responded with the sound of me spitting into the toilet. I folded my arms on the bowl as I let my saliva freely drop down onto the rest of the load of  mush floating on top of the water.

“Come on, don’t shut me out. Seriously though, are you alright?” He used a softer, less menacing tone.

“GO AWAY,” I demanded as I slid down to the tiled floor.

“I’m sorry if I took it too far. I thought you were only faking it.” He explained

“Does this sound like faking to you?” Venom was clear in my voice as I rested my face on the stingingly cold tiles.

“Open the door, let me help you,” he pleaded. I could picture him tugging at the roots of his hair.

“Help me?” I asked with all the abhorrence I currently possessed towards him. I pulled myself up to the door and flung it open. The door grazed his bare feet and he sprang backward, muttering profanities.

“Do you see what you’ve done?” I wailed as I gestured to the horrific scene behind me.

“I didn’t know what I was doing.” He stuttered and looked down.

“You’ve hurt me in a way that I don’t ever think we can come back from.” I stood up and turned on the faucet.
“Oh please don’t be like that, you know the food tasted good.” He offered an innocent chuckle. A small smile broke out across my face but I quickly made it recede. I punched his shoulder with all the strength I had left.
“I guess I deserved that,” he shrugged.

“You think dingus?” I twisted my face sarcastically.

“Come on, I have ice cream for dessert.” He joked as he helped me out of the bathroom.

“Ha ha,” I quipped. “Just promise me no more mash potatoes with heavy cream.” I pleaded.

“I promise,” he nodded with deep sincerity.

“But in my defense, how was I supposed to know what lactose-intolerancy was.”