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There was an older guard waiting. He had them bring me over to the bowl.

I swallowed hard and said “Not a good idea, sir. Anything more and I’ll be sick for sure!”

He didn’t listen and I swallowed against bile. I’d definitely pushed my body further than was good for it and this was it’s none to subtle way of telling me ‘enough’.

They bent me over the table, into the fumes and held me there.
I coughed, swallowed some of the stuff and promptly threw up helplessly. I couldn’t stop and I was too weak to move away.

The guards recoiled in disgust and I fell in a heap.

The old guy was more disciplined though and kept position.

I knocked the table over in my fall and tugging it toward me threw up until I was dry heaving. This wasn’t good.
I hadn’t stopped throwing up as I fell so there was quite bit splashed on the tiles. The bowl lay on its side, in a spatter of vomit. It’s contents and my stomach contents blending in a noxious mix.

I had the strength left to push the table away a bit but nothing more. I couldn’t even wipe my lips or face. I hadn’t got any yuck on my clothes though for which I was grateful. My eyes fluttered. The old guy was still there. I was having trouble focusing though.

“Sorry,” I muttered, “Got pounded pretty bad and the… blue stuff was the last straw… sorry. Um, could I ask a favour? Hanky, left breast pocket.”

“You would like me to clean your face and lips?”

“Sorry.” My face slowly turned red. I hadn’t thrown up since I was eight, even when I wished I could. Losing control this way, even if it was because my body had been pushed way beyond its limits, was embarrassing and degrading to me.

He wiped my lips and face gently, brought me water and helped me sit up long enough to rinse my mouth out, spit and then take a sip. The water tasted weird but I was past caring if they drugged me. I was completely thrashed. What more could they do to me… and keep me alive anyway.

I choked, coughed and had another sip.

“Sorry.” I said again. He gave me a look which said ‘Man, you’ve really had it rough. Don’t worry, there’s not much to go.’ I reminded me of that Ger boy’s gentle smile from my dream.

He lifted me slowly into a standing position and the other two came back, shame faced and in different clothes.

They stepped carefully around the puddle of sick and took me from the old guy.

“Sorry,” I said again. “Sorry.”

They stood stiffly, thoroughly uncomfortable.