Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Four
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@monthofsick
tw emeto, fever, sickness, scat (in conjuction with emeto)
Meadow slowly opened her eyes to the soft glow of dawn filtering through the curtains. Her bedroom room, filled with dreamcatchers and tapestries, usually felt serene.
However, as she sat up, a wave of queasiness swept over her, a subtle disturbance in the tranquility of her morning.
Her stomach, a knot of uncertainty, made its upset known as she swung her legs out of bed. The wooden floor beneath her feet felt cool, grounding her in the reality of the moment.
It was Friday. Friday meant show night. Friday meant the afternoon shift at the Whiskey Creek Tavern, and then grabbing her guitar and playing music for bar goers for extra tips.
Meadow ran a hand through her hair, one of her feather extensions finally breaking free of her hair. She probably needed to redo it today. Take out the old, put on some new ones.
As she stood before the mirror, the reflection revealed a hint of fatigue in her eyes, contrasting the usual sparkle. Meadow's fingers ran through her hair, attempting to shake off the lingering drowsiness.
In the midst of applying gentle strokes of mascara, a sudden spell of nausea struck, causing her to pause.
The nausea made her nervous. It always did. She immediately went into her bathroom, and she was sure an hour passed that she was waiting for the wave of vomit that never came.
The nausea passed. Meadow took a deep breath, willing the discomfort away. She had her windows open, it was spring time and the wildflowers in her yard were freshly in bloom. The scents that Meadow usually welcomed, the flowers and the early morning dew, that were usually so comforting were almost too much for her.
Random spells of nausea continued to tease, leaving Meadow to navigate the morning with subtle panic. She hated vomiting, it scared her.
As she put in some new feather extensions, there were a few dry heaves, each one making the panic worse, which probably did her upset stomach no favors.
She got dressed. Her usually flowy top, her colorful skirt, her floral corset. She put on a few bracelets. She tried to just act like she was feeling totally normal.
-
As Meadow joined April, Allie, and Arizona for lunch, the familiar scent of homemade dishes filled the air. The restaurant was one of Meadow’s favorites, a small family owned restaurant. It was Meadow’s favorite place when she moved to town.
But today the thought of walking in made her want to throw up. Her stomach felt worse, she was sure because of the anxiety, and the mere thought of putting anything in her stomach made her want to lose it.
"Meadow, sweetheart, you seem a bit off today. Everything okay?" April said at some point.
Meadow, usually bubbly and full of life, managed a faint smile, attempting to reassure April. "Yeah, just a bit tired, you know? I was out late in the field, inspiration strikes at the worst time. Nothing to worry about."
However, April's maternal instincts kicked in, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. Meadow, quieter than usual, picked at her food.
"Sugar, you gotta eat something,” April said, “Its going to be busy tonight, you know how Fridays are.”
“Right,” Meadow said, forcing a chuckle, “I was just zoning out. Sorry.”
Meadow started to eat then. Her stubbornness and disdain for people worrying about her outweighed her queasiness. She started eating more than she probably should, a silent message that she was perfectly fine. Each bite felt like a deliberate effort, the flavors blending with the lingering queasiness that still clung to her. But she continued to eat the food she had.
This was going to be a long night…
-
The atmosphere at Whiskey Creek Tavern buzzed with the lively energy of patrons and the soulful tunes drifting from the stage. Meadow always started the night by taking orders and delivering plates with her usual charm. However, it felt so impossible to maintain.
As the evening unfolded, Meadow began to feel a mounting discomfort in her stomach. The eclectic mix of dishes she had consumed earlier now seemed to swirl uncomfortably within her. The tight embrace of her corset felt constricting, adding to her unease.
April, perceptive as ever, noticed the subtle shift in Meadow's demeanor. "Sugar, do you need a break?" she suggested, concern etched across her face.
Meadow, determined not to let on, flashed a reassuring smile. "No, April, I'm good. Just a bit tired, that's all."
As she continued to navigate the crowded tavern, the queasiness intensified. The lively chatter around her seemed to blur, and Meadow struggled to focus on her tasks. A conflict brewed within her – an internal debate between the fear of admitting she wasn't well and the growing urgency to find relief.
The sensation intensified, leaving Meadow torn between the need to dash to the bathroom and the fear of attracting attention. A wave of nausea threatened to overtake her, but she fought to keep it at bay.
"April, could you handle the next few tables for me?" Meadow requested, attempting to maintain composure.
April, sensing something amiss, nodded understandingly. "Of course, sweetheart. Take a break if you need to."
Meadow, now feeling the pressure of her corset against her abdomen, excused herself and hurried toward the restroom. The dimly lit corridor provided a momentary refuge, and she took a deep breath, trying to quell the rising discomfort. The struggle continued, a silent battle between her desire to appear unfazed and the growing urgency within.
In the dimly lit restroom of Whiskey Creek Tavern, Meadow leaned against the sink. She could feel her corset seemed to press too hard on her stomach, like she tied it too tight.
As she stood there, Meadow's mind added to her suffering by reminding her of everything she ate earlier. She could almost taste it all over again. The queasiness escalated into a painful reality, and a sudden urgency sent her rushing to the stall.
She pulled down her skirt. Almost immediately she could feel liquid rushing out of her.
The tightness of the corset felt unforgiving. She pressed her hands against her stomach, which sent more out of her.
Every wave made her want to gag. Her throat felt tight, like she was going to puke.
After what felt like an eternity, Meadow emerged from the stall, her complexion paler than before. She washed her hands, avoiding her reflection in the mirror, not wanting to confront the vulnerability etched on her face.
She splashed cold water on her face. She took a deep breath.
The stage at Whiskey Creek Tavern awaited Meadow, her guitar resting against her as she prepared to share her music with the eager audience. The vibrant lights cast a warm glow, and the hum of anticipation filled the air. Meadow, however, felt the familiar waves of discomfort intensify as she took her place under the spotlight.
This was truly Meadow’s favorite thing. She loved getting up here, performing. It was entertaining and most of the time, the people were so nice.
But the weight of her guitar on her stomach, once a familiar comfort, made her feel worse. And moving around as she always did was making her feel like she would lose it one way or another.
The crowd, absorbed in the music, remained oblivious to Meadow's internal battle. With each note, the queasiness intensified, threatening to overshadow the magic of her performance.
She felt her corset digging into her stomach. Meadow knew what was going to happen. The discomfort was low. She felt sweat on her forehead, on her back, as the moments ticked by, her corset felt tighter and her top felt suffocating.
She finished half her set. Maybe she could split it. She could wrap up this half, give someone else a go, maybe step outside a moment to collect herself, and go from there.
That’s what she did. Pulling Houston on stage, letting him do his set. She didn’t hesitate to basically run off.
“Meadow?” Allie is behind her.
The tightness of the corset felt unbearable now, every step intensifying the discomfort. She thought about taking it off, maybe, but she also didn’t want to set it down and forget it or something.
"I just need a moment," Meadow managed to whisper, though her breaths came in shallow gasps.
She stumbled towards the exit, the cool night air promising relief. The world outside the tavern embraced her with a gentle breeze, but the queasiness persisted.
The plan was to catch her breath, but the discomfort had other plans. Meadow rushed towards the restroom, a desperate urgency propelling her forward. The door closed behind her, muffling the distant sounds of the lively tavern.
Alone in the dimly lit restroom, she felt the corset tightening like a vice, her stomach in revolt. She immediately sat on the toilet, in the stall.
The first wave of diarrhea offered a brief reprieve, but Meadow's relief was short-lived. The discomfort lingered, morphing into an ominous prelude. She clutched her stomach, beads of sweat now forming a sheen on her forehead. The once vibrant tie-dye skirt seemed to mock her, a casualty of the evening's ordeal.
Pressing her hands to her stomach, more burning liquid shot out of her. It was horrible. She could feel the way the liquid cascaded out of her. Every cramp in her stomach was a precursor toward
Just as Meadow thought she might be able to gather herself, a sudden surge of nausea overwhelmed her. Panicking, she covered her mouth with her hand, desperately trying to suppress the rising tide of sickness. The corset felt like a cruel accomplice, constricting her further.
Unable to hold back any longer, the contents of her stomach erupted through her hand, catching on the vibrant skirt below. The bathroom became a cacophony of distress as the dual assault continued. Meadow, torn between the toilet and the mess she had unintentionally created, felt the vulnerability of the moment consume her.
Allie, sensing something was terribly wrong, knocked on the restroom door. "Meadow, are you okay?" she called, her voice filled with genuine concern.
Meadow, gasping for breath, couldn't muster a response. The eclectic sounds of the tavern seemed to blur with the retching, creating a surreal symphony of distress within the confines of the restroom. The vibrant spirit that had graced the stage now grappled with the harsh reality of her own physical limits.
As the bathroom door creaked open, Allie's eyes widened at the scene before her. The air carried the acrid scent of vomit, and her concern deepened as she saw Meadow's struggle.
"Meadow, sugar, what's happening?" Allie asked, rushing to her side. The tie-dye skirt, once vibrant, was now stained, a visual testament to the ordeal unfolding.
Meadow, still caught in the grip of her body's rebellion, could only manage a feeble gesture toward the mess she had unintentionally created.
The vomit, once held back by Meadow's desperate attempts, now flowed more copiously, intermingling with the occasional rounds of diarrhea. It seemed like her body was staging a simultaneous revolt from both ends.
Allie sighed, stepping over the mess to stand beside Meadow, rubbing her back.
“Sugar why are you-“ Allie started to ask, but hearing the gurgle of Meadow’s stomach followed by something splattering in the toilet, her question was answered.
"Hold on, Meadow," she said as her eyes fell on the strings of Meadow’s corset, "Sometimes, you need to get it all out to start feeling better."
Understanding that Meadow needed help, Allie got to work. Gently, she began to tighten the corset, untying it and pulling the strings tighter and tighter. The tighter the strings were, the more Meadow would puke up or send out the other end. Tightening the corset was not only providing support but also applying a controlled pressure that prompted Meadow's stomach to force out more.
Through the haze of discomfort, Allie's touch revealed something more alarming. As her hands brushed against Meadow's skin, she sensed an elevated warmth, indicating a fever. Concern etched across her face, Allie continued to tighten the corset, doing her best to provide comfort amid the distress.
The ordeal seemed to stretch on, the bathroom now a battleground between Meadow's body and the determined efforts of her makeshift caretaker.
Allie, a pillar of support, stayed by Meadow's side, silently hoping that this tumultuous symphony of discomfort would soon reach its resolution.
“Get it out sugar,” Allie said, “We can clean this mess in a bit, alright?”
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