Sick Day

He didn't get ill very often but when he was, he really felt whatever had hit him.

Today, unfortunately, was one of those times.

Groaning as he heavily rolled onto his side, lifting a heavy arm and flopping it down on the alarm to shut constant, merciless beeping up, Mark realised just how shit he felt. He had gathered that he wasn't going to be feeling one hundred percent when he struggled to get a decent night's sleep, but he hadn't expected to feel this bad when he finally awoke from the little sleep he had managed to gain. His head felt like it was splitting in two and every limb and joint in his body felt weak and heavy. It felt like a hangover after a long night out, only ten times worse. He knew he had to get up, though; he was due in the studio in two hours and considering how much shit he had put his friends through recently, having been in rehab and all, Mark didn't feel it was fair on them if he missed another day.

Obviously, this is a completely irrational thing to think and Mark's rational part of his brain was screaming at him to just call one of them and let them know he wasn't feeling at all well enough to even get out of bed.

But Mark being Mark he attempted to get out of bed, falling back on the mattress at least twice before managing to stand up unsteadily before slowly making his way towards the bathroom, picking clothes as he went.

Maybe a shower would make him feel a bit better.

It didn't.

Wanting nothing more than to go back to bed, Mark carried on getting ready, cleverly avoiding anything to do with breakfast in case he threw it back up on the journey to the studio.

He was so tired and felt like shit, but he didn't let that stop him from starting the engine of his car.

As his car jolted before it moved off, Mark felt his stomach lurch and he thought for a moment whether he might land up being sick right there and then. Thankfully, he managed to keep anything that was in his stomach where it belonged and the car soon moved smoothly down the road.

The journey wasn't exactly the longest one in all of human motor journeys, but it was more than long enough when you felt as though you could fall asleep at the wheel and felt like doing no more than 30 – maybe 40 – miles per hour all the way there.

...

How he managed to get there without causing a major accident, falling asleep at the wheel, throwing up or a mixture of all three was anybody's guess, but he did and had only managed to piss off a handful of other motor users on the way. So far so good. He wasn't feeling any better at all – in fact, it was probably safe to say that he felt worse – but he was here now and he couldn't turn back. Not when he saw the figure of Howard at the window waving at him.

Trying to act as if he felt fine, Mark wave back and tried to give a convincing smile. He wasn't sure how convincing he had managed to be, but he figured Howard was too far up to see the dark circles around his eyes.

Shit, Mark thought, should have remembered to pick up my hat when I left this morning.

He struggled up the stairs, holding on to the rail as tightly as he possibly could. Eventually he made it up without falling backwards and almost threw himself at the door, opening it, once he was at the floor he wanted.

"Hi guys," he croaked. He hadn't spoken at all that morning and immediately realised that he sounded God-damn awful.

It was almost movie-like the way his friends turned to look at them. All four of them, simultaneously, turned to face Mark with the exact same look of concern written all over each of their faces.