She was sick.
Half an ora after, Blair was hunched on her floor, curled over with her arms wrapped herself to protect her sore stomach.
Her face was pressed into her knees, soaking them with tears.
She couldn’t believe what had just happened.
In her bathroom, she had made herself sick.
She couldn’t face the other side of the room, the bowl.
Any evidence was flushed away, but it still taunted her, the image unable to leave her mind; a testament to her broken promise.
Her imperfections.
Blair had never thought this would be her, on the cold tiles, weak and crying.
She wanted to be strong.
She was...
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