Once I'd started hurling my guts up, I couldn't stop.

As I retched for the umpteenth time, gripping the porcelain rim as the ground shifted beneath me, I tried to align my thoughts. But between the horrendous tang of acid and the pounding pain that encased the entirety of my head, the task proved difficult. 

My vision blurred as a new barrage of that night's dinner forced its way up my throat. I gasped and sputtered, shuddering at the awful sensations in my mouth. The violently bitter stench withered my senses, and I was thankful I chose to keep the lights off. Seeing the results would have only made things worse.

As I reached up to flush the toilet, I thought back to the bite, and chills that were not from the sickness skittered down my spine. I was sick, really sick, and it was getting harder and harder to pass it off as mere coincidence. My whole body was shaking. Violently. If it wasn't for the porcelain rim I gripped to for dear life, I'd probably be a shuddering mess on the ground.

Spitting the last of the bile into the water, I collapsed to the floor. My vision flashed white as another wave of pain tore through me. But how could an infection spread so fast, without even piercing every layer of my skin? And within an hour?

I struggled to draw in air, its cold kiss powerless to the furnace of my throat. Even the coldness of the tiles seemed to dissipate at my touch, as though my heat were poison, spreading and growing. I groaned at the tightness in my muscles. I was sure any wrong move would sever the drawn-taut sinew in my body.

I should have gone home. 

I blew out a shuddering breath, allowing my head to hit the wall. Why had I done this to myself in the first place? Why couldn't I have just stuck by my code and remained in my room? It was all for nothing. Alia had her night ruined anyway.

Alia. Her face flashed through my mind, and it made me wonder what she was doing at that moment. Was she still upset? Was she stuck into the drinks? Had her wrath finally given her the courage to speak to someone other than me?

I chuckled in spite of myself. That was doubtful. Alia was far too shy too start a conversation with anyone, no matter how angry she was. Hell, the only reason I ever got close to her because I'd insisted on talking to her day in and day out, and that alone had taken years.

I frowned. Through my fuzzy memories, I couldn't quite recall what had drawn me to her in the first place. I wasn't a social person -- solitude was invaluable to me, as was time. In a life so hectic there was rarely a free moment -- studying for hours on end or completing chores -- time was precious. So the fact I was willing to invest so much of that in befriending Alia would always be beyond me.

I looked down towards my limp hand, my olive skin pale and dotted with sweat. It had been easy to ignore her at first. She was a stranger to me, and as far as I was concerned, strangers didn't mean anything. And yet there she was -- vulnerable, weak, lonely. I saw the way she stared at cliques with longing, only to hurt as she realised she didn't belong. I saw the light in her eyes gutter over and over again as someone pushed her aside or brushed her off. Because beneath that timid gaze was a golden heart, a heart hidden under swaths of fear.

And then, I did something I never thought I would: I began to pity her. It was a feeling much foreign to me, one which caused many restless nights and uneasy days. A kind of pain that only grew worse every time I saw her suffering. It wasn't long before I started reaching out, making contact like never before. I exited my comfort zone for a stranger, something I didn't think was coded into me.

And yet I never had an answer as to why. Not even to this day. I guess it was like seeing an injured bird on a road -- vulnerable, small, weak. When you see it, you have to help it, no matter what. You feel a kind of urgency in your gut, one that forces you into action, even if it means exposing yourself.

I thought again of Alia's face. I thought of the dimples that formed whenever she smiled, the way her eyes glimmered like candlelight even on the darkest of days. 

Did I regret reaching out? Not at all. In fact, I had the feeling I'd do it all over again if I had to. 

A cold rod of guilt rammed through my chest as I came back to the present. And yet I'd failed her, on a night that was meant to be ours. 

I huffed a bitter chuckle. It was funny to think of all the lengths I'd gone to to make her happy tonight, only for someone like Jane to ruin it. What a waste.

A splintering pain had me doubling over. I hissed, clutching my side as my vision spun. I was about to right myself over the toilet again when a rap sounded on the door.

I stilled. I'd chosen the most remote bathroom I could find. Why would anyone be here?

After a few moments of hesitation, I called out. "Who is it?"

"Kyra?" I didn't have enough time to act shocked before the door flew open, Alia's figure consuming the frame. My heart stuttered, and the shame in my gut begged me to avert my gaze.

My best friend looked slightly dishevelled. Her hair stood up at odd angles, the red stain on her dress blotched and swollen as though she'd attempted to scrub it away with water. Her brown eyes were somewhat glossed over -- suggesting she may have had a few drinks -- but a faint disappointment still lingered behind them as she regarded me. However, any contempt on her face quickly vanished as she took me in.

"Kyra... oh my god! Are you okay?" She rushed to my side, trying to get a better look at me. I hoped she couldn't see very much in the dim of the bathroom. I didn't want her to add me to her growing list of concerns. I inclined my head, swallowing the fire in my throat.

"I'm fine. Honestly." I was anything but fine. I was sure that, if I were to move so much as an inch, every fibre in my body would snap. 

Alia's eyes narrowed. She didn't need much light to see that I was lying. She knew me too well, but I guess that's what comes with being so close for so long. You learn to read the little things, like the gleam in their eyes, or the slight mannerisms no one else paid attention to.

"Kyra... you didn't have your drink spiked, did you?" She gasped, clutching me at this sudden realisation. "Oh god, this is bad... I mean, really bad. We need to get you to a hospital, Ky. Who knows what they drugged you with?"

I was going to assure her that I hadn't so much as touched a drink tonight when another retch cut me off. I scrambled for the toilet, ignoring the pain that lashed through my body at the motion. Metallic acid danced on my tongue, and the horrible taste almost had be sobbing. 

"Kyra--" Alia began, then sighed. The silence drew out between us, and I could tell she was choosing her next words carefully. "You don't have to be strong all the time, you know. I think you and I both know you need help right now. "

"I don't--" Another gag cut me off. I didn't even have time to spin towards the toilet as I threw up before Alia's feet.

"Oh!" she squeaked, stepping back and flicking on the light. I hissed at the sudden brightness, squeezing my eyes shut in an attempt to block out the light.

I kept my eyes closed, shuddering at the strong tang of metallic in my mouth. When several moments of silted silence passed, I squinted up at Alia, hoping she wasn't angry over the fact I'd thrown up all over her red flats. But her eyes weren't on me. They were locked on the pile of sick at her feet. I followed her gaze, and my heart stopped.

The metallic tang made sense now. I hadn't been throwing up dinner.

I had been throwing up blood, and lots of it.