deadly nightshade | fever in, fever out

chapter 11: fresh as fallen snow

Sam awoke to the feeling of the hard floor underneath her back and her hips. She grimaced at the tense feeling and stretched out her legs. She turned her head for a look at Frank, who had lay down on his side on the floor. He had pressed his back to the wall and let his arms lay out before him; his lush dark hair spread over his face and obscured his eyes and his nose. His chest rose and fell in a steady motion.
Sam pushed herself into an upright position there on the floor and then she raised her arms up above her head. She opened her mouth and let out a soft, pained moan. Frank never stirred once but he did turn his head into the carpet a bit more. More strands of soft lush hair spread over his face like a blanket. She turned her head again to find her journal and the pencil and pens resting on the floor next to her right hip.
The entire apartment was silent except for a faint drone out in the front room. She rubbed her right eye with the base of her palm and hesitated there for a little bit. She peered out the window over Frank's slumbering body but she couldn't see what was out there. With a sore feeling in her back and her hips, she lifted herself onto her knees and then she pushed herself up onto her feet. She stretched her arms over her head again and spotted the large snowflakes drifting down from the pure white sky.
She looked down at Frank and his arms laying out before him. A noise out in the front room caught her attention and she ambled over to the closet door. The rest of the apartment was cold and still, and Charlie whispered something to Marla in the next room over. Sam crept towards the mouth of the hallway for a peek into the front room.
Scott and Billy were both passed out in the living room: the former had been laid out on the love seat while the latter lay down on his back flat on the floor with a blanket over his body.
She knew they were going to wake up feeling sick from all the booze from the day before. Indeed, the back of her mouth felt dry and parched from the bit of beer that she had drank down herself. She wasn't hung over but even with the feeling in the back of her throat, she knew it could be far worse.
Careful not to wake up the snoring Billy, she crept across the carpet to the kitchen for a cup of water. Scott shuddered a bit when she strode past him. Indeed, she wanted to switch on the thermostat but given Frank and the two of them were still sound asleep, and she took a glass for herself from the cupboard.
When she downed the cool water from the faucet, she thought about the man appearing in her dreams. The literal man of her dreams. She wanted to know him, and she wanted to know if he was even real. She poured herself another cup full of water and drank it down in one fell swoop.
Scott let out a low, pained groan.
"Fuck—"
Sam held still with the empty glass cradled in her hand. Scott moaned in agony as he limply rolled onto his side.
"Fucking hell. Oh, God..." His voice broke from that awful feeling. "Ugh—Billy? Bill. Billy."
Sam sighed through her nose and stood in the doorway with the glass still in hand. Billy had rolled over onto his side and buried his face right in the carpet. Scott meanwhile lifted himself into an upright position on the love seat, and he rubbed his eyes.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered. She hung there in the doorway and watched him hunch over his lap; he then ran his fingers through his hair and bowed his head. He peered at her over his shoulder and he raised his thick dark eyebrows at her, like a pair of blackened frozen fish sticks.
"Oh, hey," he greeted her in a raspy voice. "What—What happened last night?"
"You fell asleep in the back seat of the car and we brought you and Billy back to Charlie's place."
"Ohhh... shit." He rubbed his eyes again. Even in the dim light, she could make out the washed out color in his face. He licked his lips and he breathed at a quick and heavy pace.
"You're not gonna barf, are you?" she asked him, concerned.
"I hope not," he confessed. "I am dyin' of thirst, though."
"Want me to wake him up?" She gestured to Billy laying still there on the floor, to which Scott shook his head.
"Nah, you don't wanna do that," he assured her. "I did that the first time we got hammered together not long ago and he just about bit me."
"Jeez."
"Yeah. He narrowly missed me—if I hung over his face for just a second longer, I probably wouldn't have as big'a eyebrows right now."
"Want me to get you something?" she offered him.
"An aspirin the size of the Bronx?" he replied with a sickly smile on his face. "A piece of dried toast to keep my stomach from flying out every which direction?"
"Something feasible," she corrected herself, and she wrinkled her nose at the sound of that last request.
"A cup of coffee?" he followed up.
"Now, that I can do for you," she said with a wag of her finger, "—as long as Charlie and Marla want some, too."
She was about to step over Billy's unconscious body but then she stopped herself and stepped around him instead. She made her way down the hallway to Charlie and Marla's bedroom: she pushed open the slightly ajar door and found they lay next to each other in bed, snuggled underneath the covers against the cold of the apartment.
"Hey, you two—" Sam greeted them in a near whisper. Charlie lifted his head to look at her, and albeit with blurred eyes.
"Oh, hey," he replied to her in a broken voice. Marla poked her head out from under the blankets: her orange disheveled hair stood up in every which direction at the crown of her head.
"Hey, girlfriend," she greeted her after clearing her throat.
"What's up?" Charlie closed his eyes and then he lifted his head up from the pillow.
"I just came in to ask if you guys want a bit of coffee," she offered; even though she stood in the doorway, she could tell neither of them wore clothes under there.
"Like the best thing for a hangover," Marla remarked: Sam could make out the sight of her hand caressing over Charlie's bare chest, even with the blanket over him.
"Coffee and a bit of breakfast..." His eyes then popped open in surprise. "Wait, do we even have coffee on hand?"
"I think you do," she told him.
"You haven't been here, though," he reminded her.
"Yes, but the last time I was here, we had a big pot of coffee together."
"That was like three weeks ago," he recalled.
"You had plenty left in the can, though... right?" Marla paused with her mouth slightly agape.
"Plenty for myself for the next couple of days," he flatly said.
"Hang on, hang on, I'll go look," Sam offered, and she ducked out of there and doubled back to the front room, where Scott paced to and fro with one hand on the side of his head. Billy still hadn't awoken. She was about to walk in when she felt something grab her by the shoulder. It yanked her back into the closet, and she realized it was just Frank.
"What're you doing?" she demanded.
"Shhhh!"
"What're you doing?" she repeated in a hushed voice.
"Dude, Charlie needs to see these," he said as he held her sketchbook right in front of his chest with one hand.
"I thought we made a promise to not share them, though," she reminded him.
"Yeah, but—I kind of changed my mind, though."
"You changed your mind without telling me," she concluded.
"Yeah, but—you weren't in here when I woke up and thought it, though. I was going to tell you about it once you got in here. I saw you walking past and I just couldn't take it anymore."
"So you delve through my journal without my permission."
"Not really. I just sorta picked up the journal and I remembered they were in there. Didn't even open the thing."
"Huh." She shrugged her shoulders. "But that still doesn't explain why we have to share it to all of them out there."
"I didn't say all of them, though," Frank pointed out. "Just to Charlie."
"Well, I was gonna make the bunch of us coffee," she said as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. The piece of gum she had stuck back there had not left a single mark on the skin or the hair there.
"As long as neither of us are hungover," he pointed out.
"I'm not hungover," she promised him with a shake of her head.
"There's another thing I want from you, too—if you don't mind."
"Not at all," she said with another shake of her head.
Frank fetched up a sigh. She recalled what she had told him the night in that he was seeing her at her most self and her most vulnerable self: her artistry left her feeling naked, and the only way to feel it even further was if she had stripped down to her underwear at one point and let him do the same. He had witnessed a side to her that no one else had witnessed before either, and in a way in which the art took on a life of its own. She had a tiny ray of hope within her that it would be something innocent, even by her own standards, and yet she had a feeling that it would be something significant.
"I wanna see more art from you to me," he begged her, to which she gaped at him.
"For you?" she asked him, stunned.
"All for me. No word to Charlie or Joey or anyone about it, either. I want it between the two of us. I want it. I must have it!"
"Well, get down on your knees and beg it from me then," she teased him, and yet he did just that regardless of whether or not she meant it. Frank knelt down before her and held onto both of her hands.
"Please, Sam—Sam I Am—please. I want more from you just for me. As your best friend."
"But you ain't my best friend, though, Frankie," she pointed out.
"I oughta be, though!" he insisted. "I want to be your best friend."
She looked down at his face and his big dark eyes, like the eyes of a puppy begging her for a treat.
"Yeah, but there's—Aurora and now there's—there's Marla—" she stammered.
"They can be your best girl friends—but I wanna be your best friend, period."
"If I'll be your best friend, I'll take you to whatever show you wish this summer," he vowed.
"Why this summer?" she demanded.
"Because that's when we all go out on tour. The last stretch of time before you and Marla go to school, too!"
"That is, if I get into school," she pointed out.
"You will," he vowed. "Trust me, you will get into school. Trust me, Sam, you will."
Sam nibbled on her bottom lip and that was when she caught the sound of Scott muttering something to himself. Charlie's laugh echoed through the wall to the right. Not even two weeks before, she was alone in the Bronx, and there she was, caught up between four men, or at least three of them unless the assumption with Joey rang true. Three men and she had no idea as to what to do with either of them.
"Okay," she said in a low voice, and yet when the words left her lips, a chill ran up her spine. It was actually happening. She had said yes!
"Oh, thank you so much!" Frank climbed to his feet and threw his arms around her. Given he was so tall in comparison to her, he smothered her with his chest and his sinewy arms. She lifted her head in hopes to breathe.
"Oh, my god—it's such an honor, Sam," he cooed in her ear. "It's an honor to be your first clientele."
"I try my best—" she sputtered: he loosened his grip so she could breathe and touch his chest with both hands. "I try my best."
"You are the best, though," he insisted. "You and Charlie—two of the best artists I've ever seen, I swear."
"Where am I on par with him?" She raised an eyebrow at him.
"You want the truth?" He lowered his voice to a whisper, given Charlie and Marla were right next door to them.
"Nothing but the truth," she insisted in an equal whisper.
"You're slightly better than him," he confessed.
"Only slightly?"
"Yeah. Charlie's excellent but you—you're in a whole other ballpark altogether. You're in a league of your own."
"Hey, Sam, what's the hold up?" Scott called out from the front room.
"Oh, yeah, I was gonna whip up some coffee for the bunch of us," she recalled right into Frank's face.
"Oh, boy!" A bright twinkle emerged in his eye as he let her go. Scott poked his head into the closet right then.
"There you are," he said to her after a clearing of his throat.
"Yeah, Frankie just wanted to tell me something," she quipped.
"I dunno if I have any coffee, though," Charlie called out.
Billy groaned from the front room.
"We'll haveta keep our voices down, I reckon," Frank declared.
"Not necessarily," Scott told him even as he massaged his temple with two fingers.
"There was that time Billy tried to bite Scott, though," Marla's wavering voice caught their ears.
"That was 'cause I stood right above him, though," Scott pointed out. "On the other hand, I dunno 'bout all of this." He hesitated with his lips pursed. The color had drained away from his face. His body trembled even when he stood perfectly still right in the doorway.
"You alright, man?" Frank asked him, to which Scott raised a finger. He then turned to the other side of the hallway to the bathroom: no sooner had he closed the door behind him when they heard that visceral, retching noise on the other side.
"A little bit ago, I asked him if he was gonna puke and what does he do?" Sam said in a single breath.
"Pukes his damn guts out," Frank quipped with a straight face and a nod of his head. Charlie strode past the door to the kitchen, albeit in nothing more than his shorts and a pair of white tube socks; Marla muttered something to herself in the next room. While Scott stayed in the bathroom, Sam ambled into the next room to check on Marla, where she had sat upright on the edge of the bed with her camisole down over her chest. She tugged it down once she saw Sam standing there.
"Hey," she greeted her, complete with a little smile on her face.
"Hey," Sam echoed. Marla looked as though she never spent the night tipsy and with her body entwined with Charlie's: she had a rich rosey blush in her face and her eyes sparkled with the daylight.
"Could you do me a solid?" she asked Sam.
"Uh, sure."
"You see my pants right there?" She pointed across the room to the pair of jeans she had worn the night before draped over the top of the chair.
"Yeah."
"Could you hand it to me? I'm not wearing any underwear and I don't really want you to see my naked ass." Indeed, she pulled the blanket over her lap to hide her naked legs. Sam handed her those pants in one fell swoop; she could still hear Scott in the bathroom.
"You're not hungover?" she asked Marla as she backed up to the door again to give her privacy, and she shook her head.
"I got drunk one other time with Frank and Charlie not long ago—and I never got hungover then, either," she confessed. "I guess some of us handle it better than others."
Scott groaned from the bathroom, which he then followed up with the faucet running. Charlie emerged from the hallway, right behind Sam no less; she stood back to look on at the loose tendrils of kinky black hair dangling down from his head onto his sinewy bare shoulder.
"Told ya I'm outta coffee," he told her with a shrug of those bare shoulders.
"You didn't say that," Marla scoffed as she slipped on her panties without standing up. "You said you weren't sure."
"Yeah, and then I started questioning it."
Sam rolled her eyes.
"You silly boys," she joked.
"Right?" Marla joined in as she put on her pants, again without standing up. "Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em."
"We need ya, though," Scott moaned from the bathroom; the three of them turned to see him standing in the doorway there. A warm blush began to bloom across his face and his eyes were clearer than before. Some water dripped down from his bottom lip and Sam could tell right away he was feeling better.
"Would you like some toast?" she offered him.
"Please."