Gwen walks back over with a ceramic bowl in hand, setting it down on the table in front of me. Thick steam rolls off the dish, its vomit scent smacking me in the face. Wrinkling my nose, I push it away, taking a sip of my drink. Placing her hand on her hip, Gwen nods at the lasagna. “Aren’t you gonna eat what you ordered?” Her tone gnaws at my nerves, eating away at my resolve. “I don’t know. Are you going to stand there and watch?” “Probably not. I don’t want to bear witness when you puke your guts up.”
