[ For a second Poe thinks maybe he won’t throw up after all. Then his stomach muscles wrench and he’s bent half over, puking a cascade of liquid that’s more alcohol than bile. He hasn’t eaten in hours, not since before he settled in to baptize himself in shame. Another gag, another heave, another rush of lightheadedness and vomit. For a second Poe teeters on the edge of passing out, the world a seesawing haze, but then it steadies and Poe feels John standing there, hanging on to him, and he could cry from gratitude.
His bodies tries for round three, but there’s not much left to wring out. Poe breathes, slowly, deeply, and tells himself he’s not allowed to lay down on the alley floor and go to sleep. For one thing, John won’t let him. Breathlessly: ] Thank... thank you. Thank you.
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His bodies tries for round three, but there’s not much left to wring out. Poe breathes, slowly, deeply, and tells himself he’s not allowed to lay down on the alley floor and go to sleep. For one thing, John won’t let him. Breathlessly: ] Thank... thank you. Thank you.