"Holland?" Phoenix asked, looking at him confused. His phone was still in his hand.
Holland's face was pale and drained of color.
Holland ran to the bathroom and started throwing up. His body lurched forward, convulsing, heaving. His stomach emptied itself into the toilet, again and again, until there was nothing left but dry heaves. He couldn't stop. He couldn't breathe. His hands gripped the sides of the toilet bowl, knuckles white, fingers shaking.
"Holland, oh my God." Phoenix threw his phone on the bed and ran to Holland's side. He knelt beside him, one hand on Holland's back, the other holding his hair out of his face. His heart was pounding in his chest, so loud he could hear it in his ears, feel it in his throat.
Like a mantra, Holland could hear what Andrew had said. It kept repeating over and over in his head, telling him that he would always come back to him. No one would accept him as Andrew had accepted him.
