At the toilet, Lydia crouched low, her body convulsing as she forced herself to vomit, her face buried against the cold porcelain. Every heave tore through her chest, until her stomach emptied itself in a bitter flood that burned her throat.
She didn't know if it worked, if it purged whatever had been in the wine, or if it was already too late. Still, the thought of leaving it inside her was unbearable. She gagged again, pushing until there was nothing left but bile and a hollow ache.
Thankfully, she was alone. Amy had gone off to celebrate with the others, leaving Lydia in the suffocating silence of the room. Her arms trembled as she sank back onto the tiled floor, utterly spent. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, heart racing so violently she thought it might burst. Fear gnawed at her.
She knew the wine would not just a wine, there must be something else in it, something dangerous, something vile.
