1980's Rock Imagines

Bret Michaels - Sick as Hell

Word Count: 1,638

"Come on, I told the guys you'd come."

"What difference does it make if I'm there or not?"

"I want you there."

"The guys don't care if I'm there. And I'm sorry, but I really don't feel well, and I'm not going. I would feel better if you stayed here too," you huffed, crossing your arms and closing your eyes in frustration. Your head was already pounding before this conversation, now it was only getting worse. 

"You're crazy if you think I'm going to sit here and waste my Saturday night. Besides, you skipped out last time too."

"I was on my period, Bret! I felt like shit!" you exclaimed, finding his attitude to be insufferable at the moment. "

"Or was that just an excuse so you wouldn't have to go out?" Your jaw dropped at his accusation, not even knowing where to begin with a comeback as your stomach churned. "Go ahead, just tell me you're on the rag so I'll have some kind of bullshit excuse to tell the guys when I get there."

"I can't believe you," you grit your teeth, wanting to say more, but holding back because the last thing you needed was some wicked fight with him. 

"I should be saying that to you," he returned, grabbing his keys off of the counter before slamming the door behind him. 

You felt tears stinging your eyes, wondering how he could be sweet and down to earth most days, but a total prick when he felt like it. You knew he was stressed out from constantly working in the studio, and that his pent up anger was probably justifiable, just not in the way he directed it at you. While it was true that you had also refused to go the last time the guys wanted to go out, your reason for not going wasn't a conjured up excuse. 

This time around, though, you felt much worse than when you were just on your period. 

You had been dealing with a headache most of the day, and no matter what you did, it only got worse. No amount of water, medication, ice, or sleeping would cure it, so you just tried to function as best as possible. Not to mention, your nausea continued to escalate as the day went on. Of course, your boyfriend hadn't been around all day to see you skipping meals or desperately trying to relieve the pain in your head.

A couple of hours went by before your stomach really started to hurt, and you found yourself curled up on the floor of your bedroom as you clutched it. You cried softly to yourself wishing that it would all just go away, or that you hadn't been left alone at the very least. You knew that something had to be really wrong with you to be in this much pain, but you wouldn't even be able to guess what it was. Food Poisoning? Stomach Flu? Dying maybe? It sure felt like it.

You stayed there on the floor in your dark bedroom for a couple more hours, asking yourself what on earth you could have done to deserve something like this.

Meanwhile, Bret was out at a club with the rest of the guys from Poison. He had gotten there late because of his argument with you, so by the time he got there, the guys already had girls wrapped around their waists and were starting on their second round of drinks.

"About time you showed up," CC cheered, his smile fading slightly when he noticed how perturbed Bret looked.  

Rikki added, "Someone's got their panties in a bunch."

"Yeah well, Y/N didn't want to come, even though she's always complaining about never getting to spend time with me anymore. 

"How come she didn't want to?" Bobby asked, taking a swig of his beer.

"She said she didn't feel well, but I'm not buying it because that's the same excuse she gave last time."

"Maybe she doesn't like going to clubs," one of the girls, who was sitting on CC's lap, interjected.