- Messages
- 990
- OOC First Name
- Anna
- Blood Status
- Unknown
- Relationship Status
- Married
- Sexual Orientation
- Homosexual
- Wand
- Straight 12 Inch Flexible Ash Wand with Phoenix Tail Feather Core
- Age
- 35
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Continued from here
Continued from here
The time between managing to nod at his best friend's statement they were going to the hospital and arriving there in an instant became a blur when Archie felt his feet return to solid ground. In a mix of the apparation, disorientation and the evident amount of alcohol still in his system, the nausea worsened causing him to fall to his knees and vomit on both Orwell and the ground in front of him. A few minutes later when his shirt was stained and his throat burned with acidity the vomiting subsided and Archie leant back on the ground with a hand over his face, continually willing the world to stop spinning and his stomach to calm down. Orwell told him it would be okay and Archie shook his head, alcohol still affecting his ability to form words or respond properly to his friend. He should have realized that sitting in front of a hospital and the sickness worsening that it wouldn't stop. That it was not going to stop on its own, and no matter how much he tried to plead to himself and control what was happening to his body, it was not going to be okay. That it was clear neither he or Orwell could fix what was wrong with him. But the only thought in his mind was not the reality of his situation and rather a simple want to feel normal again.
Nausea and subsequent vomiting came and went in waves while Archie curled up on the ground, completely unable walk into the hospital alone or to help himself apart from wishing the sickness to end. Archie all consumed by nausea did not even register when he began moving again, or rather when he was being dragged as dead weight until bright lights obscured his fuzzy vision making him squint his eyes shut and groan. It was then he felt his body slump into a chair while he listened to Orwell's voice in the distance and not soon after a bucket was handed to him. He hugged the bucket to his chest and vomited into it when the nausea again became too much. Shortly after vomiting for what he thought was the millionth time Archie found a moment of reverie and a slight break from feeling entirely sick, enough to manage mumbling incoherent words to Orwell, not knowing if his friend was nearby or listening, but wanting to express the heaviness in his heart which was the reason he made the irresponsible decisions that brought him to the hospital that night. "He's dead. Why did he have to die. He didn't deserve to die. It's stupid. I'm stupid. He deserved better." Archie soon vomited into the bucket again, leaning back when it stopped and wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his ruined shirt. "I hate this." He mumbled again, wanting nothing more than to go home, sleep and hug his best friend for comfort but unable to express this and still unable to realize that being somewhere comfortable and familiar was an impossible expectation for someone that was currently sitting in a hospital, sick out of their mind due to their own stupid decisions and incapable of helping themselves.
Sorry that this is super late real life is intense ya'llNausea and subsequent vomiting came and went in waves while Archie curled up on the ground, completely unable walk into the hospital alone or to help himself apart from wishing the sickness to end. Archie all consumed by nausea did not even register when he began moving again, or rather when he was being dragged as dead weight until bright lights obscured his fuzzy vision making him squint his eyes shut and groan. It was then he felt his body slump into a chair while he listened to Orwell's voice in the distance and not soon after a bucket was handed to him. He hugged the bucket to his chest and vomited into it when the nausea again became too much. Shortly after vomiting for what he thought was the millionth time Archie found a moment of reverie and a slight break from feeling entirely sick, enough to manage mumbling incoherent words to Orwell, not knowing if his friend was nearby or listening, but wanting to express the heaviness in his heart which was the reason he made the irresponsible decisions that brought him to the hospital that night. "He's dead. Why did he have to die. He didn't deserve to die. It's stupid. I'm stupid. He deserved better." Archie soon vomited into the bucket again, leaning back when it stopped and wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his ruined shirt. "I hate this." He mumbled again, wanting nothing more than to go home, sleep and hug his best friend for comfort but unable to express this and still unable to realize that being somewhere comfortable and familiar was an impossible expectation for someone that was currently sitting in a hospital, sick out of their mind due to their own stupid decisions and incapable of helping themselves.