The Way Back

Hiccups

Stevie pressed her cheek against the cold tiled floor of her spacious bathroom, afraid to move a muscle. She closed her eyes and wished her head would stop pounding. There were things she needed to do. She had a fitting scheduled with Margi for an upcoming show at the Whiskey a Go Go, and she had to look over the set list. As much as it seemed like a safe, brilliant idea, Stevie couldn't remain on the bathroom floor. She sucked in a breath and exhaled slowly, gingerly pushing herself from the floor. Her hand shakily clamped over her mouth, and she threw herself forward, retching and heaving into the toilet. She flushed and slumped back onto the tile, shutting her eyes until she heard footsteps and her name being called.

"In here," Stevie yelled out weakly, grimacing at how scratchy her voice sounded. She opened her eyes slowly, groaning at the sight of Sharon's hot pink toenails near her face.

"Why am I always finding you on the floor lately?" Sharon asked sardonically as Stevie slipped her hands over her face. She could tell the blonde wasn't hurt. She had witnessed numerous strange acts out of Stevie since moving in with her off and on through the years, and the woman sprawled out on the bathroom floor didn't top the list. "Let's get you up."

"Don't touch me. Please, don't touch me," Stevie murmured.

"Stevie, you can't stay on the floor!" Sharon felt the irritation rising within her as she stared at a silk pajama clad Stevie stretched out across the floor like she was supposed to be there.

"Yes, I can," she retorted, swallowing hard as her stomach continued churning. "I can stay here the rest of my life if I want."

"No, you cannot. You're going to be late for your appointment with Margi. You haven't even cut down the set list for the show that's in three weeks, and you haven't said anything about rehearsing since we left Dallas!"

Stevie shut her eyes, raising her middle finger in Sharon's direction. She didn't need to hear everything that still needed to be done. She knew how much work was left. At the moment, Stevie didn't know how she would even get through the day.

Sharon crossed her arms and tapped her bare foot against the tiles, curling her lips and staring at the ceiling while she counted to ten. The singer sighed and ran a hand through her hair before stepping over to the sink. She grabbed a cloth and ran cold water, wringing out the cloth. Sharon sat down and scooted closer to her friend. "Put your head in my lap," she instructed.

"That's moving, Sharon. I don't want to move," she mumbled grouchily, glancing up at Sharon and catching the determined look. "Okay. If I puke all over you, you asked for it."

She watched Stevie delicately place her head into her lap. Sharon brushed her bangs away from her eyes and put the cloth across her forehead. "Did you drink last night? You're not supposed to. If you did, it's okay I guess, but Dr. Wong won't be pleased."

"I didn't drink," Stevie answered, wishing the cause of her sickness was that cut and dry. She'd prefer a hangover.

"Do you want me to call Margi and cancel?"

Stevie shook her head. "Give me a few minutes," she answered, squeezing her roommate's hand to relieve the worry lingering in Sharon's onyx eyes. She carefully scrambled up from the floor, letting Sharon steady her. Stevie patted the woman's hand and looked at her. "I'm going to take a shower. Call and tell her I'm running late. She won't be surprised." She wasn't known for her punctuality, and Margi probably expected her to be late. She usually allotted extra time for Stevie.

Sharon nodded. "Anything else?" she inquired while getting a towel out of the cabinet and setting it on the counter.

"Tea and toast, please," Stevie requested, starting the shower and unbuttoning her top as Sharon hurried out. "Sharon! Wait."