Her pale fingers gripped the outside of the bowl, her head practically submerged in the fresh water below. Spencer’s body jerked forward, the violent expulsion of liquid cascading forcefully from her open mouth, splattering against the sides of the inside of the bowl, and streams of filth bouncing off the water’s surface and splattering her face in tiny patches.

Dodger said something, though Ashley wasn’t sure what exactly. His face was full of shock and fear, apparently having never seen someone vomit as violently as Spencer was at this moment.

Ashley pushed herself off the wall in a panic, dropping to the floor behind Spencer, her thighs spread around Spencer’s lower back, Ashley’s knees on the tile. Her fingers grasped at Spencer’s curtain of beautiful hair that had fallen haphazardly around the bowl, a few strands submerged within the water, tiny pieces of bile bubbles and fragments of her dinner attaching themselves to her hair. Ash used both hands to collect all her hair, pulling it away from her face and onto her back.

Dodger’s hand went for the sink, grabbing a hair tie that rested near the soap and handed it to Ash. She looked back at him, her eyes full of gratitude, thankful that someone was here with her, sharing the turmoil and confusion that was much too heavy for one person to hold within their hands.

Tying Spencer’s hair back, she rubbed her back with her hand, while pressing up against her, wanting Spence to know she wasn’t alone.

Spencer continued to gag and dry heave, the sound of liquid striking liquid now replaced with Spencer’s sobs and unintelligible babbling that echoed within the confines of the porcelin hole.

Dodger’s eyes remained wide as he leaned forward to obtain a better view of Spencer’s face, her red skin covered in pieces of vomit and moisture, tears running down her face, although Dodger didn’t know if they were involuntary, or if Spencer had now recognized that Ashley was here with her, the shame and humiliation dropping into the bowl from her cheeks, mixing with the puke and drool.

Soon, Dodger could not distinguish between Spencer or Ashley sobs. He allowed himself to slowly slide down the door and onto the floor, his head resting momentarily in his hands.

Ashley was now sitting on the tile, her legs and arms wrapped around Spencer, fat tears trickling down her face, her chest heaving up and down. Large patches of wetness littered the front of her top.

Spencer’s hand was covering her face as she sobbed, her right leg resting awkwardly underneath her, her left elbow dangling off the side of the rim.

Dodger just looked on, at the train wreck that lay before him, counting the dots on the shower curtain, listening to Spencer say she was sorry, over and over, while Ashley rocked her and assured her it was okay and that she was not going to do this alone. The toilet flushed, as both girls lay in a heap, their bodies intertwined, hair matted to their sweaty and flushed faces, snot being sucked up their nostrils, into their mouths, and swallowed down the hatch.

Dodger began to count again, forcing the sound out of the room through the slight crack in the upper window, the abrasive smell of puke permeating his nostrils, secretly wishing he could just take the bleach and scrub the pain and filth from the room.