"I said just a minute!" Lindsey's voice echoed through the room to the person on the other side of the door.
He knew they were due on stage in five minutes; they both did.
Yet here they were, confined to this tiny bathroom that made him feel like he couldn't breathe, while he held her hair back as she kneeled over the toilet.
He didn't know if it was from the withdrawal or....or from...the baby.
The baby was something he still could not (would not) wrap his mind around.
They both made a silent decision to ignore its existence.
For now.
She tried, futilely, to push him away; physically and emotionally.
Between heaves she screamed that she didn't want him there. That she didn't need him.
But she did.
She needed him.
She did.
She did.
Right?
He needed her. He needed her in ways no one should need another person and he knew, he knew, deep down in his broken, desperate soul, that she needed him too.
She was too stubborn to admit it.
He was too stubborn to tell her.
She stood, finally, and looked him right in the eyes.
He froze. He tried to think of something to say, but she didn't let him. She cleaned her mouth and brushed past him on her way out.
She rushed out of the room; heading for the stage.
She shouldn't be on stage. What about the baby?
The baby.
Oh god, there was going to be a baby.
His baby.
Their baby.
And they were just going about their lives. Day to day they were living like nothing had changed.
They were living a lie.
They were living like they weren't connected in a completely different and new way now.
But they would be.
He always thought they'd be connected forever.
Now he knew.
He had to take care of her; take care of them.
Nothing else mattered anymore.
