It Won't Be That Bad

Ch 13

He was in the room he used to kill his husband, the beep sounded repeatedly, behind the glass wall that separated him there was the man. Bound and unable to escape. A tool in the shape of an ice cream scoop was displayed in front of him. He couldn't stop himself from pulling the lever, witnessing again a death that he had witnessed firsthand in the past didn't mean much to him, but in this moment, it hurt. Blood splattered, flowing down from what had been shoveled, what was in the shovel.

It felt nauseating.

The rancid smell, the bloody soft objects, the red lumps on the floor, the constant beeping sound.

Too nauseating.

Very nauseating.

He opened his eyes and immediately got up from his lying position, then as if the liquid in his stomach had risen to his throat too quickly he vomited it right into his lap.

Damn it.

He was breathing heavily, his face was covered in sweat while his fingers were shaking violently, his eyes were wide open looking at the vomit that had soaked the blanket and bed sheets, his chest was pounding too fast in anxiety, tight at the same time. The sour taste and blood can be tasted on the tongue, leaving an unpleasant sensation. He rubbed his face full of frustration, trying to calm himself down first before doing anything. He glanced to his right, there was no one beside him. Then he glanced at the clock, it was half past four in the morning.

Michael might still be at the restaurant. Noah pushed the blanket to the floor, he sat for a moment on the edge of the bed with one hand covering his mouth, there was still a strange sensation in his throat. The vivid images of the dream from earlier came back to him, he quickly pulled the nearest trash can, felt the contents of his stomach rise again and vomited it out. His chest felt like it was burning violently, he closed his eyes tightly.

Once again he tried to calm himself down, for two minutes. After that, he went to change his clothes. His head seemed to be spinning, he picked up the blanket that had fallen and removed the bed sheet while trying not to lose his balance, and also picked up the clothes. He came out of the room, his steps towards the laundry, his legs felt heavy to move—as if someone was holding his wrist so he wouldn't leave and he kept remembering the dream. Guilt started to rise inside him again, he practically dragging himself.

His mouth felt bitter, after putting this in the washing machine and washing it he would probably go to the kitchen. He entered the laundry room and was about to approach the machine, but as time went on his vision became increasingly blurry and his legs seemed to lose strength.

A pair of hands immediately stopped his body from falling to the floor like the cloth he was holding. "Hold on a moment," a familiar voice whispered gently as he felt their bodies being sucked in by the air. A second later he felt his feet touch the floor again, although his dizziness got worse until he collapsed onto the sofa in front of him. He gasped again, a pair of hands helped him climb onto the sofa again and he right away lay down on his left side, curling up a little there as the hot sensation now spread throughout his limbs. "I'll get you some coconut water, okay?"

He couldn't say anything but watched as the black-haired man teleported back from the room he recognized as a shared working space in the basement of their house. Then someone sat on the same sofa and massaged his legs a little.

"You okay, Noah?" William asked, his voice sounding concerned.

"William ... why aren't you asleep yet?"

His father-in-law chuckled softly, patting his calf for a moment. "I woke up half an hour ago to work on some remaining reports," he answered casually. "Vincent helped me, he wanted to take my laptop from the room but he seemed to see you. What is it? You are sick?" William put the back of his hand on his forehead, Noah put it away quickly and tried to sit up. "Nightmare, then?"