Had she been sober, she would've been disgusted by herself. Repulsed. Embarrassed. Instead, this was just a part of it — when she wasn't high, she was coming down, and that meant feeling like her insides were being turned inside out. And now that she was doing so much of it so consistently, the comedown was even worse. She didn't see it getting any better, either.
When he held her hair back and wiped the proof of her sickness from her mouth, she momentarily dropped her eyes, a flash of something that looked a little like shame darkening her eyes, but it only lasted a split second before she was studying his face once more. He had a kind face, and she found herself wanting to reach up and touch that silken blonde hair that framed it.
So she did.
Pale, fragile fingers lifted and touched it, finding it as soft as she thought it would be. He was asking if she could try again, slower this time, and if it meant getting a hit she'd do that and then some. Nodding, Emilie reached for the can once more, this time not letting instinct take over and instead forcing herself to take a slow sip at a time.
Finally, she managed to get half the can down, but she knew that any more of it and she'd be in the same boat as before, so she handed it back and looked at him expectantly. "Like it when you call me baby," she whispered, shivering.