Darcy woke up with a jolt, a sharp pain shooting through his stomach like a knife slicing from the inside. He groaned, clutching his middle, his brows knitting tightly together. The pressure in his gut twisted violently.
He barely had time to react before stumbling out of bed, his legs tangling in the blanket as he staggered toward the bathroom.
The second he reached the toilet, he collapsed to his knees and retched, his fingers clutching the rim with white-knuckled tension. The sound of vomiting echoed off the tiled walls.
His entire body trembled, cold sweat running down the back of his neck. After a few moments, the spasms stopped. He stayed there, panting, arms limp, head lowered.
He sat on the bathroom floor, feeling dazed. The pain dulled as quickly as it had come, like it had never been there in the first place.
