Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 468

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said, but a sudden sneeze betrayed her words.

Theodore glanced around, then down at himself. There was nothing he could offer her for warmth. The ship had blankets, of course, but this was a freighter. They'd be rough, utilitarian things used by the crew, and he knew she'd never accept one. As for him, he was only wearing a T-shirt; he had nothing to give her.

"Want to wait in one of the cabins?" he suggested.

"No!" The word shot out of her. It was a cargo ship, and the cabins belonged to the crew. She couldn't just take over someone's personal space, and the thought of sleeping in a bed a stranger had used made her skin crawl.

"Alright, wait here for a minute." He stood up and walked off.

She figured he was going to find a jacket or a blanket, but honestly, the cold wasn't her only problem right now.

She realized she was seasick. A wave of nausea washed over her, and she knew if the ship lurched any more violently, she was going to throw up.

After Theodore left, the wind picked up, and the whole vessel began to rock fiercely. Emma sat in the center of the deck, staring out at the inky blackness surrounding them. The sea looked like a vast, black maw, and she imagined what would happen if the waves got any bigger. Could they capsize the ship? Could a person be swept overboard into that void?

She wanted to get up and find Theodore, but the moment she tried to stand, the world spun. She stumbled, and the nausea intensified, the bitter tang of bile rising in her throat. It was a sure sign she was about to be sick.

She was terrified of throwing up on the deck, but she was even more afraid to go near the ship's railing.

She sank back down to the deck, trying desperately to fight it down.

"Emma, over here!" Theodore called from the other end of the ship.

She shook her head, hard.

"What's wrong? Come on, it's warmer over here," he urged, waving her over.

She tried to stand again, but a large wave crashed against the hull, causing the ship to lurch. Her legs gave way, and the urge to vomit surged again.

"No! I'm not coming!" she cried, squatting down and wrapping her arms around her legs, refusing to move another inch.

"What is it?" Theodore strode quickly toward her. "The captain and crew have a fire going. They're cooking something. Come warm up."

But Emma just kept her head down, hugging her knees and shaking it.

Her face was deathly pale.

Theodore finally sensed something was seriously wrong and grabbed her arm. "Are you feeling really sick?"

Emma just squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her lips together, afraid that if she opened her mouth, she would vomit.

"Let me carry you?" he offered, reaching for her, but she shoved him away with all her might.

Then, she couldn't hold it back any longer. She lunged for the railing and was violently sick over the side.

When she was finally done, she looked down and saw nothing but the churning, black water, roaring and surging just below her.

She clung to the railing, her face a terrifying shade of white, her lips trembling.

"Emma, something's not right. Let me look at you!" he said, his tone hardening with concern.

But Emma didn't want him anywhere near her. There was nothing between them anymore. Besides, she had just thrown up; she felt disgusting. She turned her head away, her knuckles white as she gripped the railing.