She waited for his response. Biting her lip, and tugging slightly on the tips of her short, blonde hair. Her blinking slowed to an unnatural pace, like if she was in slow motion. The scent ginger and vanilla graced the room and swirled around their nostrils as she approached the door. They could hear her. Her bangles sounding against one another. Her heels clicking one after the next, simultaneously. Her heavy shawl dragging on the floor and the small gypsy cymbals hitting the tile. The soundproof studio door opened slowly, swaying just a slight bit before revealing the person behind it. To everyone's surprise, her hair was a newly dyed chocolaty brown. The door slammed behind her, causing her to shudder.
"Steph," a man holding a pair of drumsticks," your hair!"
"I know." She said snappily, "I've looked in a mirror, Mick." She turned away and looked at the awards that the recording studio had on display. Janis Joplin, Ron Stewart, Tom Petty. She looked over her shoulder at him, "Don't call me Steph." She blew a lengthy strand of hair out of her chestnut eyes.
"Stevie, are you feeling okay, love?" the other woman asked while fluffing her bangs. The brunette turned around with a disgusted expression dancing across her face.
"Fine. Just... Just, fine." she said in the fakest voice she could muster at the time. You wouldn't have known it unless you'd have known her for a long time, but she was hurting. No one caught on, except the man with short curly hair. "I think I need to get going." She said, her voice cracking.
"But... you just got here, Steves." A British man with the bass guitar wined. She slowly walked out of the room, fighting back the tears.
"Leave her be, John." His ex-wife said, "Do you want me to go check on her?" she asked the man with curly hair.
"I can. I don't think this is a simple matter." He ran his hands through his hair as he stood. He ran through the halls, looking for her. His strides grew longer. He saw her stumble out the front door. He presumed that she was intoxicated. "Steph!" he shouted after her. She turned around, continuing her stumbling down the sidewalk. He towards her and grabbed her trembling shoulder. "Stephanie Lynn, what is wrong?" She turned toward him with fear stricken eyes. He grasped her face and pulled it close to his. "Tell me."
"I don't have to tell you, anything!" she said slurring her words and pushing him away.
"Let's go somewhere private." He whispered. She fell into him and relied on him for support. Lindsey took her back to her apartment and set her on the bed. "We're at least going to try to get you sobered up." He gave her a glass of water and when she refused it, he held it up to her mouth. "Drink it, Stevie."
"Why? Don't you want me'e? Don't you want my bod'y? She said, stuttering.
"No. I don't. You're drunk and I don't want to be that guy."
"You used to lo've me when I was dru'unk. You don't lo'ove me anymo'?"
"Steph, lay down. I'm going to get you some Asprin." Lindsey went into her restroom on the search for her "drugs".
Stevie shook and cried on the bed. "Lindsey!" She screamed. He ran in the room to see what was wrong.
"I'm not crazy? Am I?"
"No, where are you getting that idea?"
"I can't think of any other reason for you not to love me."
"It's not that I don't love you, it's..."
"So you do love me?" She smiled.
"Well..."
"I knew it. I lo'ove you too, Buck."
