You aren't sure why this is your first thought as you drift toward consciousness, but all you can do is trace your memories back to the time before Amanda decided you were terrible for each other. This brings her face swimming into focus in your mind's eye: rounded cheeks and soft lips and wide nose and dark ringlets that fall around her dusky face. It makes you feel sick. That nausea is what provides the final push back toward cognizance. Without opening your eyes, you fumble around until you find the side of the bed you're in and pull your torso over the edge. Your body is wracked by dry heaves that do nothing but make your eyes water and pain explode in your skull, but no amount of deep breathing makes it stop. It takes a while–how long, you can't guess–but your guts eventually realize that there was never anything there for them to evacuate. With the distraction of retching gone, you finally notice the ambient noises of your surroundings: the patter of rain on a window, white noise from an overworked heating unit, three different flavors of beeping that seem to be keeping time with your heartbeat, muffled human chatter.
