Gag!

Cedar Creek 
#1
Pete generally liked stress. She would take dangerous stakes over boring any day of the week, and on paper, getting into an altercation with a drunk man, shifting and biting him underneath a car was quality entertainment. But...it hadn't felt like a choice she wanted to make. The weight of it made her nauseous, her guts full of foam. She had driven him home out of obligation but he didn't want to be here. He would endanger her livelihood.

She had dumped him on the spare room's bed, dog-legged it down to the kitchen and brought him up a puke bowl and a big glass of water. Then she had cut herself out of her dress and showered, repulsed at the shape of her, and crawled back into the room damp and hot, her own comforter cocooned around her. An idea...slowly...occurred.

She crawled into the narrow bed with him (yuck), careful to use the duvet as a prophylactic. This was...a plan. And she was pretty sure it was better than camping out in front of the door and holding him hostage when he woke up. Wired but exhausted, she let her will power relax, melted steadily into naked skin and damp, curly hair, and sank immediately into a thick sleep.
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#2
He would sleep for about five hours, recovering to an accelerated degree from his brush with death.

He would wake... uncertain. He would try to fall back asleep. He would realize, very suddenly, that he needed to vomit again.

Not at all familiar with where he was, Abhinav groaned quietly and tried to get out of bed.

Before, in a room with a layout he would not be able to navigate with closed eyes, he smacked very suddenly into a wall.

"Ugh- fuck."

It came out more of an exhale. His stomach burned.
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#3
Thump.

Blue eyes snapped open, bloodshot, and Peter went briefly on her own awareness journey, startled by the shape of the room she was in, by the dudely sounds of struggle in the dark. Then, like a series of slaps, all the important details from the earlier night bit into her, and she swallowed down a groan, sneaking a hand up out of the blanket to feel at her face.

Well, one piece of good news. She felt human again.

She did not feel smart, though. Taking in a breath, she let him putz around in the dark for a minute, trying to picture her options.
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#4
"The hell," he grumbled, and then his head ached like fuck and he doubled over. Where the fuck was he? His night was such a fucking blur of sound and light fragments.

He remembered texting his... mother.

He found his way to the door and then, not realizing someone else was in the room with him, he tried to make it to the bathroom with his hand over his face.

He did, somehow, his everything whirling. What fucking day was it. Where the fuck was he. This place was so big.

He barfed into the toilet and realized he was covered in vomit.
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#5
Okay, more barfing. She wasn't sure how he had anything left in there to barf, but here they were.

She really was not a schemer. She wasn't going to manage lying in bed pretending to sleep and letting him find her, or sneak off to make his own fortune. Grabbing hold of the comforter, she slung herself off the bed and padded into the hallway, squinting blearily at the man's back as he dropped his head into her toilet. Rip off that band-aid, girl.

"How much do you remember?"

A drunk's least favorite fucking question.
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#6
"FuUCK!" he yelled, having not been in a place to hear her quiet approach, and promptly smashed his head into the uplifted toilet seat.

"Fuck, who the fuck are you??"

Yeah.
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#7
Nope.

Her eyes narrowed, and she hulked in the doorway for a moment before answering. "I'm your fuckin' lifeline," she snapped, levelly, and turned around to crawl into her own bed.
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#8
What the fuck did that mean.

Abhinav rose, a hand to the door jamb for more support than he'd ever needed in his life, and angrybrowed her retreating.

"Where the fuck am I — who are you?"

God, he felt. Disgusting. His shoes were disgusting. Everything. Disgusting.
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#9
>:[.

"Go take a shower or something. Laundry's downstairs." She slouched in her bed, also glowering; she was sure as shit not holding his hand for this if he was going to blame all but one little bit of this predicament on her. And only nice assholes got to wear Pete's clothing, so. FIGURE IT OUT, BUD.

Anger and bickering was already more comfortable. She could snipe and squabble her way through this, if that was an option. At any rate, she wasn't giving him shit until he calmed down and talked like a grown up.

She flumped angrily onto her side, legs thrashing.
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#10
Abhinav would do no such thing. He also, very suddenly, couldn't stand.

So he sort of crumpled to the ground where he was. He told himself he was just waiting for an answer, but his body seemed much less capable than he was willing up give it credit for.
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#11
She heard him fall down.

And, growing increasingly agitated, she heard him...not get up. She closed her eyes, feeling for sleep, but no. She was fucking....in it again. With a juvenile and loud sound of frustration, she rolled back out of the bed, letting the comforter flap open in a fit of pique. She stomped back to the bathroom like an upsettingly nude superhero and gave Abhi an exasperated stare. "Yeah?"
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#12
She arrived nude enough and he stared at her tits unabashedly. Also raising his eyes any higher felt... impossible. Yeah. Tit level worked.

"Answer me," he mumbled.

He was absolutely dying. He could feel it in his... liver.
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#13
He stared at her tits, and for several seconds she was lost in a fantasy of just stomping him to death with her feet, right there. What a fucking worm. Eventually her head cleared, though, and she looked down at Barf Bag with an expression that was trying, with great strain, to be gentle. Er. Gentler than kicking him to death.

"You're at my house, dumbass, cuz you drank enough to kill yourself and I felt bad for you." Honest answer!
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#14
An acidic burp behind thankfully closed lips. Okay. He could figure out a place where this cave woman stomped around naked was decidedly her own house.

"Where is your... where is house," he asked with a not entirely voluntary roll of his eyes, the pounding in his head making it very hard for him to focus. Even on tits, woe.
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#15
"Cedar Creek." So far so less-worst.
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#16
Cedar Creek was so... just so fucking far away from where he'd been. It was also a sincere shithole.

"Okay," he mumbled, and then decided that laying on the floor right here was a better option than ever being upright again.

Okay. Good night, shitty life.
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#17
She continued to stare down at him, watching him deflate. It was...what, five or six in the morning? Really too late to fall asleep in the bathroom. She wrapped her blanket around one hand and yawned. "You wanna clean up or are you happy on the floor?"

It was a lot easier to baby him when he was all sad.
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#18
Abhinav was not happy. He would never be happy. This was true.

He gave a grunt, folding his arms. He stank of vomit; it was wafting around him now. But he literally just did not have the energy to make any effort to get up. All of this was too much.

He'd be out for roughly another forty five minutes if she let him stay there, but it was probably better for him if she did not.
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#19
He grunted at her.

"Kay," she replied, and plodded back to bed. Whatever that shift-thing she had done was, she needed another two hours, minimum, to sleep it off. Not to mention, you know, the whiskey. The rest of the day would be a problem for Future Pete.
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#20
Bye, bitch.

Waking up the second time would do him no favors. Abhinav was drenched in a cold sweat now, aware of his stench on so many fucking levels. It was panic with which he woke now, startling and breathing awful until he realized where he was.

Still on the floor, trash bag.

His eyeballs hurt. He decided it was better to just crawl into the tub.

From there he decided to feverishly, messily strip off his clothes, tossing them outside in a pile. What would he do with them after he showered? She'd mentioned laundry, right?

Also, shower was a strong word. He remained on the floor of the tub, lazily yanked the curtain until it mostly covered the opening, and then started the water and decided to just. Sit here. And eventually lean against the wall while the water fell over him.
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#21
At 45 minutes in, she was still sleeping hard. Out for another hour, probably, unless barf boy was brave enough to come wake her.
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#22
No, like, he'd be there until she woke up. Because he passed out again.
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#23
She woke up, eventually, to the sound of water running. At first that seemed like a good thing, compared to Abhi collapsing on the floor in his own barf. Tortuously, she kicked her way out of her blanket and rubbed at her face, beginning to stockpile the willpower necessary to get through today. She had a couple hundred bucks crammed into an old bag for emergencies, she could take them out for breakfast before trying to recover phones and wallets. Or she could leave him here if he wasn't being a dick and try to wrap all that up herself. Hyena Talk, obviously, needed to happen in private.

Out of the bed, and a bent-over shamble to a dresser erupting with clothes; bras made her kind of rage-y this close to full moon, so she went for a band t-shirt and some black drapey thing, then grumbled her way into underwear and jeans.

Ugh.

The shower was still going, so she took a minute to loop around to the spare room and down the glass of water she'd left for Abhi, then padded back into the bathroom to refill. Noted the stinking pile of clothes, the lack of hot-shower steam in the air, and, you know, the not-closed shower curtain.

Well, there was her baby boy, huh.

Letting out a "this fucking bitch" of an exhale, she set down the glass and yanked the curtains open, stepping over his barf pile to turn the water off. Unconscious, she thought, he was easier to look after. She pulled a towel off the wall and draped it over him, considered just scooping him up like a nude lil sack of potatoes and then thought better of it. Leaning into the tub, she jiggled his shoulder patiently, trying to mind-control him into being out hard enough to just be inanimate.
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#24
Good news! The forces of the universe seemed to have blessed Pete with Abhi being out hard enough to just be inanimate.

The truth was that even with a body recovering from alcohol poisoning, he was still very much at the mercy of newly insane caloric needs.

Boy was damn near catatonic.
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#25
Pete was not the best were-mother. She had never owned a copy of What to Expect When You Bit a Stranger. Seeing a hungover dumbass in front of her, she simply folded him in half at the waist and scooped him up. Like a sad, sad, wet hairy baby. And dumped him in her bed, generously, because it was the one that didn't have barf on it. Prodding him into a natural position and pulling the comforter over him, she looked around for inspiration, dropping a t-shirt by his head if he was so motivated, a pair of boxer shorts. Then she made a face at him, grabbed her keys and swept down to the bathroom to drop a hand towel on top of his stank pile an pick it up. One thought, two thought...keys went onto the bathroom counter and she stalked back to the spare bed, clothes on the bed, bedding gathered up in her arms. Down to the laundry/mudroom. Washer loaded and running, back up to fish out her money, get keys again and deposit, at Abhi's bedside, a charitable glass of water.

Then she was out the door, in search of tacos and other essentials.
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#26
His third round unconscious seemed to have woken him slightly less terribly, though he was confused about why he was in another bed.

The headache was unreal, still, and again his insides felt like an overfull sponge drenched in alcohol. The taste lingered up his mouth, in his throat. It felt like pure burning acid. Ugh, why had he had so much.

Why had he survived it. Abhi had been so sure those were his last moments and he—

He opened his eyes with a sudden, aching clarity. Where the fuck was his stuff. That woman. Who the fuck was she. Cedar Creek, she'd said, he remembered very belatedly. Fuck, did she have like. A phone.

Had he slept with her? How could he have managed it, between, you know. Dying and also whiskey dick. He had no idea. Apparently she was the reason he was alive, or something like that. He briefly recalled vomiting everywhere, his head hanging after.

When had she found him, and at what point had she brought him here?

He realized he was... wrapped in a towel. Because, shit, he'd been in the shower. He remembered crawling into the tub.

"Fuck," he groaned, feeling so fucking dizzy as he pushed himself up. Clothes, next to him and semi folded still.

Was he supposed to wear this.

"Hello," he called out in a dry and dehydrated groan, but there was no answer. His head pounded so loud he swore he could hear it.

He'd see the water eventually. Ugh. Slow sips, but he barely managed three before his body was just begging him to stop.

He'd still be in bed, head against his knees in misery, when she came back.
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