Chapter Text
Victor never should have eaten at that seafood place in Hulbury. He had been miserably tossing and turning all night, borrowed hot water bottle on his achy swollen tummy. At least, he was, until about five minutes ago when he was suddenly aware of an intense pressure unsettling his insides. He’d had just enough time to grab the little hotel waste bin he had next to the bed and dash for the toilet.
His bowels opened with a sick, painful gush and he groaned. Sweat beaded up across his flushed face, trickling down to his neck to be absorbed by the already sweaty tank top he wore. He settled the bucket in his basketball shorts, between his knees and let out a sick belch and another groan. He absently wondered if Hop could hear him in the next room over.
He would be embarrassed, but he could already feel the thick sludge creeping up his throat, even as he continued to empty the contents of his bowels. Tears stung his eyes as a burning rush of sick and mess forced its way out both ends with enough strength to send little splashes of vomit up the sides of the bin and onto his bare feet and knees.
He could hear himself whimper as wave after wave of sick and mess were forced out of him. His stomach ached like he’d been sucker punched. His throat was sore enough that it hurt to swallow and felt like fire when he heaved again, bringing up bitter watery sick. His back passage was the worst of it though. It felt on fire and he couldn’t catch his breath when a thin dribble of mess forced its way out of the raw opening.
He trembled with every wet burp and every cramp. He whined quietly for Hop and for his mom, and even for Leon at one point. He grimaced at the sour bitterness lingering at the back of his throat. He wasn’t sure how long it had gone on but after four flushes and a full bin of sick, he felt that he might be close to empty.
By the time he was done, finally spent from both ends, he was too sore to wipe himself, tiny bleeding fissures having formed with the force and acidity of his diarrhea. He dragged himself up with a sob and flushed, emptied the sick bucket while suppressing a dry heave, and flushed again. With what little energy he had, he turned on the tap to the shower, stepping into a steamy spray that soothed his aching muscles.
He washed as thoroughly as he could, cleaning away the sick and mess and sweat, gently washing between his cheeks until the water no longer burned the sensitive skin and ran clear instead of slightly pink. Opening his mouth, he let the spray pool there, running down his chin and chest before pulling back and swallowing a mouthful of the warm water, hoping it would soothe his burning throat. He quickly cleaned off the rest of himself and the little waste bin and shut off the taps. Victor pulled a robe around himself, still soaked and toted the damp bin back to bed.
The sheets were slightly stiff with sweat, but dry and he couldn’t be bothered to care. Victor shucked off the robe and buried himself in layers of blankets and pillows, propping up so that it would be easy to sit up if he needed to puke again. Maybe now he could finally get some sleep.