I had thought that my sickness was over. I was wrong.
On the way back home, I sat next to a window. (My jeans were a little dirty with vomit, but I don't think anyone on the bus noticed.) I felt fine at first. But the sun was shining on my face and after a few stops, the heat inside the bus became unbearable. I felt ill and found it hard to breathe. I wasn't sure if I was nauseous again or just overheated, but I was starting to feel increasingly unwell. An old lady that was sitting next to me nudged me and told me to give my seat to an old man who was standing nearby. I looked up and saw that the bus was getting very full. I got up and held onto a handrail, but standing was making me feel even more queasy.
When saliva started collecting in my mouth, I looked around in panic. There were people everywhere, but I didn't want to vomit straight onto somebody, they wouldn't like that. I tried to think about what to do. I concluded that the safest way would be to stand facing the edge of the bus so that there are no people in front of me. I managed to squeeze my way to the door. The door opened, and the fresh breeze on my face made me feel a little better. "I might make it home afterall," I thought.
I should have known that was not going to happen, based on the previous journey...
I was only a few stops from my home when I felt my stomach churn. I gripped the handrail tighter and clenched my teeth. "Nonono, not now, not now..." I thought, swallowing saliva. The bus was still tightly packed and I was being pressed to the door. If I throw up on the door now, there's no way it isn't gonna splash all over me.
A part of me found this image really, really hot.
