The world is spinning. I am on my knees in the grass, the bitter taste of bile and vanilla lingering in my throat. My vision is blurry, and the orange leaves above me look like fire dancing against the sky.

Dorian doesn’t hesitate. He reaches into the car, grabs a bottle of water, and unscrews the cap with a sharp crack.

I feel his steady hands on my shoulders, and then he is moving my hair out of the way, holding it back so it doesn't get ruined.

"Here," he says, his voice thick with worry. ...