Don't think about it? Abi furrowed her brow slightly at him but nodded softly. She supposed she knew what he meant. Maybe they both needed a distraction from it all, some space between them to contemplate what had happened. She couldn't much return his smile as the sick feeling came back with full force, rushing her gut with blood and anger.
"Tea's fine..." she nodded, "I'll be back in a sec." Abi didn't take another look as she dashed for the bathroom, barely making it before she threw up into the toilet. She figured it was the lingering hangover and the wrenching truths she had just half-told him. There wasn't a lot to throw up but she took a deep breaths after flushing the evidence.
Curling over the sink, she ran the water until it was icy cold and washed out her mouth ten, twenty times, splashing her face and soaking her messy, red eyes. She felt weak. She didn't like feeling weak, not when sick or when she was trying to explain herself to her... Hemingway.