Restoria II

A river of bile echoes off the porcelain tiles within this sterile room. All of it a glossy white to its sheen. From the walls and floors to the borders and even the door itself, all of it as pristine as the purpose for the room that Lutèce slumps onto. The guttering symphony of vomit plays off the inner chamber of the toilet she is puking into. Heavy breathes mix with underpinned frustration as she wipes the droplets forming at her lips. As if she was puking it all away, the catatonic nervousness now gives way to something more. Or, is it something else?

Questions and blocked hells darken the shadows upon her lost eyes. Lutèce mumbles. Her lips move. Yet, they motion without sound. Something is stuck in-between her lips, but her head hurts at the thoughts that session spurred on. Her hands let go of the porcelain safety net and run across her brunette hair. It is shorter now. Way shorter. And, like many other things, she does not know how. Or, when. Or, why. A fear for sure— at first— but this streak of vomit for the past hour or so has turned that into something else. A stomach now empty of fear.

A resolution?

Breathes culminate into one big, mighty sigh. The longest sigh she might have ever heard in her lifetime. One that soars; one that contains all of her pressures into one exhaust. Her release of a diatonic of emotions that the toilet can reverberate across the whole restroom. As the longest sigh comes to a close, the shadow dissipates away from her eyes. While not fully, it’s enough to see what has replaced it. The thing beyond the shock. A step skipped past denial. Ferocity bolts to the corners of her sclera. Anger shines throughout her irises.

Bang! Bang! Bang! A barrage of knocks impact the once calm restroom door. Without missing a beat, the door creaks open slowly with a voice close behind. A soothing voice; a familiar voice. “Hey, Luè, are you ok~?”

“Mm-hmm!” Lutèce hums out as she goes for some toilet paper. She wipes furiously to clean off her mouth of all the remnants of bile and junk collected upon her mouth and chin. Whatever it takes to hide some of the details from her older sister.

“Luè!” The sister shrieks at the sight the fully open door reveals. Sight of a half-cocked stall door and Lutèce huddled, seemingly hugging the dirtied toilet for dear life. Lutèce, mid-wipe of her lips, resembles more of a deer caught in headlights than a sick younger sister in the horrified gaze of her older sibling.

With a quick toss of the soaked toilet paper, Lutèce turns to meet her sister’s saintly stare. Her lips try to remember where to stretch when they tick upward. Like a smile from someone caught in a spotlight or forgotten about a camera’s flash, Lutèce contorts her mouth into a horror show once thought to be a smile. “Hey, Liz..?”

“Don’t ‘hey, Liz’ me, Luè”, Liz Sinclair scolds as she moves towards the sink, “if you needed help, you should have told me.”

Her face wrinkled; Lutèce’s eyes narrow at such a thing. Not for what was said, but for something a bit more obtuse. “Huh?” Lutèce pushing away from the vomit-adorned toilet bowl, “How would I have known that? Not like I was planning on puking my guts out today.”

Knob of the cool water twists towards Liz as the water begins to flow. It splashes into the alpine porcelain bowl unimpeded. Droplets fly onto the capri sink top while the rapid sounds of tan paper towels are pulled from their home. Soaking the paper towels with the water, Liz turns to make her way to Lutèce bickering back to Liz’s claim.

“Bleh!” Lutèce continuing down her complaints with her tongue stuck out, “I can still taste it.”

Taking her wet paper towels, Liz wipes the remaining mess that embellishes Lutèce’s face. The towels reaching from cheek to cheek— consistently covering the lips— cleaning every spot possible. A tiny smirk forms across Liz’s own face. One clear enough for Lutèce to see. Alas, quelling the stream of quibbles that once came from such a place.

A slight blush takes shape onto the vomit girl’s face. Or, one more appropriate to call embarrassment. Regardless, her eyes avert from Liz’s smug glow. A bit of bile had managed to graze the lower section of her shirt. A few spots too evident to ignore— even if Lutèce would’ve had it in her to do so.

Tossing the paper into the toilet, Liz reaches into her purse. While pulling out a recognizable piece of fabric, “There’s the sister I once knew. Welcome back~”, Liz chimes in with a radiance of a new day’s sunrise. The warmth flows through Lutèce. Reigniting a smile of her own. A true smile. Something she hadn’t made since arriving back home. Something beyond even the anger itself. Something new; a thing familiar. With a new shirt in Liz’s hand, Liz motions to Lutèce about her shirt. Returning once again to the blush from before.

Unable to make eye contact, “Thanks, sis”, is all Lutèce can muster out.