Worlds Apart

Chapter Six

When I got up in the morning, I lifted my head of the covers ever so slightly, wincing at the stiff sensation in my bones as I laid all night in the same clothes that I’d worn the entire day before.

It wasn’t until I rolled over that the pain shot through my head, though.

Letting out a loud groan, I pressed my hands on either side of my head as if that would alleviate the ache but no such luck. Maybe I’d had more to drink last night than I’d given myself credit for.

Keeping my eyes squeezed shut; I gently let my head drop back against the soft mattress, ignoring the strange scent that accompanied all hotel rooms. Hangovers were always a bitch.

Not being quite willing to face the hangover yet, I just gave a sigh, rubbing my temples. Only moments later I wiped my chin, finding a half dried trail of drool tracing its way down across the line of my jaw. Well, that’s attractive.

What finally forced me to face the hangover straight on was the clock.

Usually eleven in the morning would be pretty damn early, but I wanted to be in the studio before any member of The Bends set foot in there this morning. If their reputation has any truth in it, they would have only gone to bed or gotten out of jail a couple hours ago. To be honest I didn’t believe that, but I wouldn’t doubt that didn’t show up in the studio until at least after four.

I just hoped that I’d be able to sneak back out of there without running into them.

Wait, not sneak because that encouraged the idea of cowardice, and I was no coward. At least by my accounts. I wouldn’t skulk out of there, peering around corners. I would walk straight out of my studio and out with my head held high, and if luck was on my side I’d get through the first day without seeing them. And maybe I could keep that up until the album was done.

Moving lethargically, I pushed off the bed and onto my knees beside it so I could drag out the bags I’d shoved beneath it. After digging blindly around the empty caves of the bag, I found that little jar of goodness.

Extra strength Advil had been my lifesavers for years, though they didn’t always help a severe hangover when I was about to play a show. Those were the times when the hair of the dog remedy came into play. Popping four of the tablets into my mouth like candy, I slowly stood up, placing the bottle carefully on the coveted space of the bedside table.

Standing in the bathroom in just a pair of jeans and bra, I leaned into the mirror, pulling a face at my reflection.

Oh, I looked hungover, there was no question about it.

At least there weren’t paparazzi swarming the town.

Walking out of the bathroom, I braided my hair carelessly over my shoulder, already locks escaping to cascade over my forehead, before opening the drawer from the dresser that I’d sorted my clothes into the other night. Unable to help myself, I pointedly pulled my Nirvana tank over my head.

For some reason wearing an American band shirt seemed important.

But even as I turned around to search for my sunglasses, I couldn’t help but think that it was ironic I was thinking like that when I’d found the one I was wearing underneath a Blur tee.

Pushing that thought from my mind, I gathered both my guitar and back pack from the ground where I’d dropped them before passing out last night. With my sunglasses pushed on, I wandered out of my room, the sun allowing for a perfect temperature in my tee as I wandered down the steps of the motel and down to the road, following the path down to the studio with a stop at the coffee shop.