deadly nightshade | fever in, fever out

chapter 74: joe barleycorn

"Sam?" Marla's voice sounded a thousand miles away, and yet she could hear her through the blackness that surrounded her. "Sam?"
She rolled her head about the soft surface and she groaned in her throat. The pounding feeling in her head... the dry parched feeling upon her tongue... as dried out as the desert in the height of summer time. She parted her lips a bit to alleviate the awful feeling in her mouth.
Zelda's voice sailed through the darkness. She could hardly open her eyes for a look over at her: through her blurred vision, she made out the silhouette of Zelda's black hair and her pale skin.
"Hey, Sam—" she called out to her, and her voice echoed through the nothing as if she stood down a tunnel. "Sam?"
She breathed out a sigh and then she blinked her eyes several times. Her vision returned and she was met with Marla's cherry red hair and Zelda's eyes, wide with concern.
"There she is," Marla greeted her in a soft voice. Sam glanced about her to find that she reclined back in the bed she and Zelda slept in the night before. They had propped her upright against the headboard and with a couple of pillows behind her back. Her head spun and pounded, and her mouth felt dry and cracked, and her stomach turned if she even so much as moved her pinky finger.
"You alright?" Zelda asked her as she rested her wrist upon Sam's forehead.
"Oh my god," she muttered. "What happened?"
"You passed out," Marla replied. "You and Joey both."
Sam peered about the room. Just the three of them: at some point, she had taken off her top and she lay there with nothing more than her bra and her panties on. "Wait a minute, what time is it?"
"Almost four o'clock," said Zelda.
"I was out for a full day," she stated in a flat tone.
"Nah, just the rest of the morning and then the afternoon," Zelda corrected her as she leaned back a bit. "The bartender told us what had happened and he helped us get you guys back up here. According to him, you guys got hammered—especially him."
"Where is Joey?" Sam rubbed her eyes: the dry parched feeling in her mouth coincided with an onerous taste there at the back. She could only assume that she threw up at some point.
"He's back in Anthrax's room. Scott and Charlie didn't look too happy with him, either."
"I'm not too happy with him myself," Sam confessed. "He promised me he wouldn't drink. Or that he would only limit it to one glass of wine." She ran her tongue over her lips. "Did I puke at all?"
"I don't think you did," Marla said, "because we would smell it. He definitely did, though."
"Yeah, we came back up here and we could hear him down the hall here," Zelda added. Sam rubbed her forehead with two fingers.
"Jesus Christ," she muttered under her breath.
"Yeah, hangovers are no fun," Marla stated. "I always get a bad headache myself. Cup of coffee always helps, though."
"That's like—the last thing I want right now."
"But it'll help. That plus some aspirin and then a glass of water. It'll all help out." Marla then gave her hair a slight toss back, and she turned to Zelda. "Wanna hang out here for a bit with her? Bel called a little bit ago and she should be here like any minute now."
"Oh, yeah," Zelda assured her. "Maybe we'll go and talk to Joey in a few moments, too."
"Yeah, I'd like to talk to him," Sam grumbled as she shifted her weight in the bed. "God, never again. Never doing that again. That was awful."
"I'll be right back," Marla vowed, and she climbed off the bed, and she headed out to the hallway. Zelda then turned back to Sam.
"D'you ever get drunk when Louie was in the picture?" Sam leaned forward and rested her hands in her lap. Her head still spun but sitting away from the headboard helped the feeling within her.
"Nah—he was just underage when we met so there was no way we could do that. Once I was twenty one, we did have a time of drinking, though."
"Punk chicks don't party," Sam pointed out.
"Yeah, that's not really our thing, to be honest. But when we do party, it's for another reason, though." Zelda flashed her a wink. "So—how're you feeling? How's your head?"
"I'm dizzy and my stomach feels sick, too—but I really wanna talk to Joey, though."
"Don't blame ya. Here, I'll help you..."
Zelda slid to the side, and Sam sighed through her nose so as to settle her stomach a bit more. She peeled back the bedsheet and she moved her legs out from over the top of the bed. Careful not to make her head spin any more, she inched towards the edge of the bed. She let out a long low whistle and then she stood to her feet.
At some point, she had taken off her pants and lay them across the top of the chair below the window. There was nothing else she could think of before then: her memory had gone all black from the feeling. She turned to Zelda, who kept her eye on her the whole time.
"Do you need any help?" she suggested.
"I don't think so. But do you remember what we really did, though?"
"I don't. I just saw you and Joey basically on the floor of the bar there—you were out like a light and he could hardly put two words together. Like I said, the bartender told us you both were utterly smashed out of your minds."
Sam rubbed her temple with her fingers yet again. Careful not to upset her stomach any more, she reached for her jeans: her head still spun about, but she managed to put one leg into her jeans, followed by the other. She buttoned her jeans and they were a slightly snug under her belly button; then she turned towards Zelda with another long low whistle.
"Where's my top?"
"No clue," she confessed with a shake of her head. "That's the other thing: when we found you, you had taken off your top. So you were layin' there on the floor in just your jeans and your bra."
She then climbed to her feet and she gestured for Sam to follow her out to the hallway: she gingerly moved forth and her head spun a little bit with each step, but she managed to walk towards Zelda. Sam licked her lips again and her throat felt even drier than before.
"God," she murmured.
"What's the matter?" Zelda asked her.
"Dying of thirst."
"I'm sure Marla'll be back soon enough with a thing of water for ya—for the moment, let's go and talk to Joey if we can."
Zelda left the door open a bit, but only for the time being. Total silence in that hallway: Testament had already left from their hotel room across the hall. Sam thought about Alex and the thoughts she had had earlier in that art shop. She couldn't believe she actually thought about killing him with a knife, but she couldn't help it: all she wanted was for him to loosen up and not be so hard and cold about things.
However, painting on that large canvas woke up something within her.
Zelda led her to Anthrax's room next door, where the door itself had hung wide open for them. The whole room smelled of alcohol and something foul, but there was no one else in there. Joey lay on his back on the floor: his black curls were sprawled about the floor all around his head like the tentacles of an octopus. He had stripped off his shirt and unbuttoned his pants: his arms and legs lay spread out from his body like a da Vinci diagram. Sam and Zelda gathered around his head: his eyes fluttered open and he gazed up at the two of them.
"Hey, Joe Barleycorn," Zelda greeted him, and then she looked up to Sam. "Remember that—that'll be a new song title."
But Sam herself rubbed her temples yet again. Joey gaped at them with bloodshot eyes and his dark lips parted: even standing over him, Sam could see that his lips were dry and parched themselves.
"Ohhhh, shit, what have I done," he sputtered.
"You got me drunk," Sam scoffed, "that's what you did."
"Well—if it's any sort of fairness to you, Sam—" He stifled a little belch. "—I got drunk, too."
"Joey..." she started, but then she hesitated with her hand still rested upon her temple. "Fuck—you told me you wouldn't drink."
"Couldn't help it. I really honestly couldn't help it."
"Zelda?" Marla's voice floated in from the hallway. Zelda herself raised a finger and she bowed out of the room, and then Sam returned to Joey there on the floor and she pressed her hands to her hips.
"I really couldn't help it," he repeated.
"Never again," she scolded him. "Never—again. This feeling is horrible for me—I can only imagine how you feel right now."
"I barfed, I know that much."
Sam reached down with one hand and he held on with both of his hands. His knees quivered and his body trembled, but he managed to climb up to his feet. He staggered to the edge of the bed next to them. He spread his legs a bit and he rubbed his forehead with one hand.
"You gotta tell your parents what happened," he suggested, to which Sam gasped at that.
"What? Are you out of your mind? They'd string me up by my tits and then beat me like a pinata!"
"You gotta do it, though, Sam. You gotta tell 'em that—that you got drunk and—" He sniffled once, twice, four times. He shook his head about and his black curls brushed against his shoulders. He grimaced, and then he fixed his jeans, especially the snug part around his hips and in between his thighs.
"Uncomfortable?" she asked him.
"My dick itches," he complained. "Probably from when we screwed around a few hours ago."
Sam stopped.
"Back up—we had sex?"
Joey hesitated. "Wait. I don't think we did." He hesitated again. "I hope we didn't. How do you feel between the legs?"
"Fine. Why?"
"'Cause if we screwed around, you'd probably be hurtin' there. At least, that's all I've been told about it before." He sniffled again. "Anyways, you gotta tell your parents what happened. They have to know that you got drunk by accident. You gotta add that last bit, too. You can't really keep this sorta thing hidden from them."
He set a hand on his stomach and gave himself a little massage.
"Jeez, I don't feel so good."
"You're not gonna barf again, are you?" she asked him, concerned.
"Nah. Stomach just really hurts is all, 'cause I puked at some point. Hurts so it doesn't feel too hot."
"D'you brush your teeth?"
"Don't think so," he admitted as he rested that hand on his thigh. "I probably should, though."
Joey shook his head about a bit so his curls tousled about a bit.
"Need help again?" she asked him.
"Nah—I'm higher up off of the ground now so I can probably do it on my own now."
Indeed, he staggered onto his feet and, slowly, he walked towards the bathroom near the front door. Sam joined him lest he collapse at some point. He let out a low whistle again once he was in the bathroom and he switched on the light. He swallowed and then he opened the little leather sack next to the sink basin; Sam watched him brush his teeth for a whole minute and then he stopped for a second.
"What's wrong?" she asked him.
He squinted his eyes, and then he closed them. He then bowed forward over the sink, and he stood upright once again, still with his eyes closed.
"Joey?"
He sneezed right into the sink basin.
"Ah, that feels better," he remarked and he proceeded to brush his teeth. He sniffled again; she brought her attention to a small plastic bag inside of that leather sack there. Something filled with what appeared to be white powder. It resembled to powdered sugar, but she wondered why he would have that with him, and where he kept his toothbrush no less.
"Is that what I think it is," she wondered aloud as he rinsed his mouth.
"Maybe."
"Don't lie to me, Joey. What is that."
He set down the paper cup on the edge of the corner and then he looked over at her, with his eyes serious and stern, more serious than she had recalled before.
"Powdered sugar," he quipped.
"Well, why would you have powdered sugar on hand?"
"Because it—tastes good in coffee."
He sniffled again and he rubbed the tip of his nose.
"Why are you sniffling?"
"Allergies."
Sam squinted her eyes at him.
"I dunno if you've ever—had allergies at any point here in New York, but—"
Sam gripped onto his shoulder and she pushed him towards the wall.
"Joey! Stop doing this to yourself! You don't need any of this!" She stopped right in her tracks when her head started pounding, hard, right at the temples. She then opened her eyes and she scowled at him. "Stop—doing this to yourself. Stop doing this to your body. Just—stop!"
"Not even a li'l pot?"
"No! No drugs—no alcohol. Nothing. I don't wanna see that shit near you ever again."
"Pot's not a drug, though. It's a plant."
"It can get you high, though," she pointed out as her head hammered so hard that she could feel her eyes closing as a result.
"Sam, it's weed. It's not gonna hurt you. If anything, it'll help you loosen up and help you with inspiration."
She fumed at him. He promised to not drink what felt to be a million times at this point, and she had had enough of it.
"Just—no more—of this—this—this bullshit," she was so angry with him that she could hardly speak. "No more, or I'm leaving. I'm going back home and I'll just let you have at it yourself."
Joey parted his lips at that but he never said anything. She stared hard and deep into his eyes, just like how Alex stared hard and deep into her.
"No—more."
He then nodded his head at that.
"Alright. Finish brushing your teeth."
"But I am gonna tell you this, though," he started again, in a low voice once more, "pot isn't a drug. My uncle smokes it to help with pain."
"Are you in pain, though?"
"It helps him relax, too. It can help us relax."
"Are you tense?"
"Maybe. I ask you the same thing, too."
"My head really hurts," she said, "but Marla's coming with aspirin, though."
There was a knock on the door right then.
"And that must be her right now."
Sam squinted her eyes and rubbed her temples once again, and then she strode on to the ajar door, where Marla, Zelda, and Belinda congregated right outside there; the former had a cup of coffee in one hand and a bottle of aspirin in the other.
"Hey," she greeted them with a hand clasped to the side of her head.
"Hey, you—" Belinda handed a bottle of water to her and then she stopped right in her tracks. "Where's your shirt?"
"No clue. Alright, c'mon—I'm dying of thirst here—"
Belinda handed the bottle to Sam and she was eager to drink it down in one fell swoop right there. Marla gave her the medicine bottle and she took a couple of pills for herself. She immediately felt better right there. A flush behind her, and then Joey emerged from the bathroom, complete with a toss of his black curls and a buttoning of his jeans.
"You ladies are art students—surprised neither of you don't do more pot, if I'm honest," he admitted in a single breath.
"Louie and I smoked a bunch of pot when we were together, though," Zelda spoke right then, and that brought a laugh out of Joey. "We did! We didn't do a lot of drinking, and we couldn't, either. But we did smoke weed every so often because it always made him extra affectionate."
"Did it help him loosen up?" Joey asked her.
"Oh, yes. We would always smoke like a couple of days before our rent was due so he wouldn't freak the hell out about it."
"I threw out that little baggie, by the way," he whispered to Sam.
"Just now?"
"Yeah. I just—" He closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. "I just can't take it. I can't take the thought of you leaving us and sitting home by yourself while we're—out and about havin' fun without you. I want you with us. I want all you girls with us." When the words left his lips, Sam could see Belinda and Zelda look at one another in response of that. "But, like I said—pot isn't a drug."
He then gestured for them to follow him back to the bed closest to the bathroom. He took a seat there on the edge of the bed and Sam took her spot right next to him; Marla, Belinda, and Zelda sat across from them. Joey opened the drawer and he took out another little plastic bag from next to Gideon's Bible at the bottom there: little fuzzy green balls inside; there was a small off white roll of paper on the other side of the Bible.
The four of them watched him roll up a thick joint filled with some of those bit of weed.
"Alright, we got an open flame of sorts?" he asked them.
"Isn't there a hot plate in here?" Marla gestured to the other side of the room.
"Yeah, there is," Joey replied, "I dunno if it'll light it up, though. Frankie's got a lighter, though. Of all people, Frankie has a lighter."
"Where is it?" Sam asked him as she took another drink of water; Marla handed her the cup of coffee to better settle her stomach. The bottle of water alone was enough to help the dizzy feeling in her head, but not so much for the rest of her body.
"One of those drawers over there—right under the TV."
Sam took a sip of the coffee, and then she reached past Joey and set her cup on the nightstand, and then she strode over to the dresser up against the wall. The first two drawers were both empty, but the third one had a few clothes in there: a pair of pants, and a couple of shirts. Sam picked up the pants from the bottom of the drawer, and she let them unfurl before her. She then delved through the pockets until she felt the little plastic green lighter in the right front pocket.
She doubled back and handed the lighter to Joey. He flicked it open with a few rolls of the igniter: a small flame opened up and he brought it up to the joint.
"Careful not to set off the fire alarm," Marla warned him. He shook the lighter about so the flame vanished; he took a puff from the joint. He coughed from the smoke and the burning feeling upon his tongue, but he still took a breath of it. Plumes of white smoke billowed out from his mouth.
"Fuck—phew." He lowered the joint and he panted from the feeling inside of his mouth. He then handed the joint to Sam as she took another sip of coffee.
"Just hold it to your mouth and light it up right there—and just inhale."
"What I wanna know is how'd you even learn to smoke pot," Belinda joked.
"I'm from upstate New York and I've been on tour before—I've found my way with it." Joey flashed her a wink at that.
Sam held the still smoldering joint to her lips: it reeked of that foul odor, and it didn't help matters that it was hot from the lighter.
"Here, lemme help ya with the lighting—"
She breathed through her nose and Joey held the lighter up to the end of the joint. He rolled the igniter twice: the little yellow flame danced about before her.
"Okay, now inhale."
He held it up to the end and she breathed in through her mouth. Given she hadn't had much to drink before then besides the water and the coffee, her throat was still parched and dry from the alcohol in the wine. She coughed and gagged right there as the hot smoke hit her throat.
"Yeah," he remarked as he shook the lighter and extinguished the flame. "Yeah, yeah, yeah—that's exactly what it is. That's it right there."
She let her tongue hang out from her mouth, and yet it did something to her right there. Suddenly her shoulders relaxed and the pounding sensation in her head was all but gone at that point. White smoke rose from her lips, such that it reminded her of a dragon. The feeling burned her eyes, but she still handed the joint over to Zelda, who took it plus the lighter and lit it up in one fell swoop as if it was second nature to her.
"The first thing we're doing when you find your new place in Hell's Kitchen is a smoke out and then a bit of art afterwards," he suggested.
"We?" Marla demanded with a chuckle.
"Yeah, all of us. We'll have a smoke out and then you girls can make a shitload of art—impress your classmates for this upcoming year."
"Impress our classmates," Sam chuckled at that; she reached past him for her cup of coffee.
"Yeah! Show 'em what kinda art can come outta li'l bit of the Mary Jane. I should tell you ladies that this is literally ideal for listening to music, too. Some of my old buddies I was in a band with used to smoke pot and listen to Rainbow and Sabbath all the while. You oughta smoke weed and put on Testament's album when that happens, too."
"Why their album?" Belinda asked him as Zelda handed her the joint and Joey the lighter.
"It's real fantastical and full of literature references. That's according to Frankie and Scott, anyway. Makes me feel real dumb in comparison, if I'm honest." He lit up the end of the joint again.
"You're not dumb, Joey," Sam assured him. "You just have a little problem with some things."
"And I don't wanna do 'em ever again," he told her; Belinda coughed once she inhaled the smoke for herself. She kept her mouth sealed closed for a moment as she handed the joint to Marla. She lit it up for herself and let the smoke out of her mouth as if it was as smooth as butter.
"Show off," Joey teased her as she handed the joint and lighter back to him for another hit.
"Nah—I say we're good here, to be honest. Don't wanna fire drill—and it smells, too. Last thing we need is someone poppin' us for it. But there's a whole bag here, though. Bring this along if and when you get a chance." He handed it to Marla for safe keeping. "Just make sure that no one else sees it. But it'll help out with inspiration, though."
"I'll give this to Sam," she assured him, as she handed the bag of weed to Sam herself, "because she's not the one having to move into a new place in Hell's Kitchen."
Joey sniffled again and then he sneezed right there.
"I really, really don't need that shit for sure," he confessed to them; he slid off of the bed and he passed the girls and headed out to the hallway.
"Kinda hungry now," Belinda admitted.
"That's the problem with that," Zelda told her. "I remember Louie and I would get the munchies like crazy. We'll have some pizza and then shower off 'cause of the smell and everything."
Sam rubbed her eyes with her free hand. The smoke alone was enough to make her eyes burn. But she recalled what Joey had told her: she had to tell her parents that she had gotten drunk and then passed out. And then she remembered what her mother told her, or rather what she didn't tell her.
Joey returned to the room right then, complete with a look of concern on his face. He sat down to Sam's right and he bowed his head a bit.
"What's the matter?" Belinda asked him.
"I did the right thing by throwing out that coke," he told her in a low voice.
"Why's that?" Sam shook her head at that.
"Danny told me that Scott's thinking of leaving the band at the end of this stint of the tour."
"What!" Zelda gasped at that.
"Why?" Sam demanded with her mouth agape.
"'Cause of—that." He gestured his head back towards the bathroom. "The booze and also—that. He doesn't wanna be around it—which is strange to me 'cause like—he drinks, too. And he's done some of that, too."
"Yeah. That's kind of weird to throw out, but—yeah." She set a hand on his shoulder. "Please, Joey. Promise me." She then moved her hand before him with her pinky finger extended. "No more drinking or anything like that. Don't you dare leave my side."
"I won't leave your side," he vowed as he hooked his pinky finger around hers. "I trust you more than I trust myself. When do you girls start school again?"
"Uh—" She glanced over at Marla and Belinda. "Do either of you know?"
"September," Marla replied.
"Yeah, September," Belinda echoed. "Just like last year and the first year I was there."
"Okay—I ask you 'cause we're gonna be in England in the middle of August. I forget the exact date, but—I hope it'll be before school starts. We also go to Finland in the middle of next month. Couple of big ass rock festivals."
"We can probably get our passports by then," Sam suggested as she rubbed her eyes again.
"Yeah, that'll be a good time to do that 'cause it'll be over the course of a week or sump'n. And then by the time we leave for Donington Park, the four of you can come along with us. I really want all of you girls to be in England with us." He swallowed and bowed his head closer to her.
"Don't want another road accident," he confessed in a near whisper.
"Absolutely not," she whispered back to him and she could feel the firm feeling in her throat again. She returned her attention to the bag of pot in her hand, and then she glanced up at Zelda. "By the way, where's my purse?"
"Back in the room. Rose put it in with her bass because—you know the whole thing about people not fucking with the bass player. Which is crazy to me."
"It really is," Sam joked with a shake of her head. "It really truly is."