KIT JERKED up in bed, chest heaving, strangling on a sob. Saliva flooded his mouth. Knowing what that meant, Kit kicked the sheet off and hit the floor running. He barely managed to get his head over the commode before everything in his stomach came up.
Once he was done, Kit flushed the toilet. He hated vomiting. Simply hated it. Turning on the bathroom light, he grabbed a washcloth, wetted it, and wiped his face. Then he brushed his teeth because yuck.
He stared into the mirror, wincing at how pale and sweaty he was, plus his hair was all over the place. He looked like death warmed over and felt like it.
