I had no idea anyone could throw up as much as Darius did that day. In fact, I was certain the giant bodyguard would eventually wither up and float away in a pile of dust. Surely he didn't have a drop of moisture left in his hulking body, though, as he sank to the floor of the boat with a groan following one more go at letting his insides see the light of day, the greenish tint to his skin and the heavy beaded sweat on his face was clear indication he wasn't going to stop any time soon.
"Are you sure you don't want to go back to the dock?" I'd been asking him the same question for the last three hours, three torturous and horrific hours while the black-suited and primly tied, polished shoed tower of typical stoic silence moaned a protest.
"I'm fine, Miss Fleming." It's all he'd uttered. And no, he wasn't insulting Crew. I'd kept Fleming, though I did wonder at the correct use of Miss vs. Mrs.
Fee. Darius was dying and I was thinking about social niceties.