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“You look like hell.”
“I know,” I agreed. “But I can sit and wallow in my migraine just as easily at work as I can at home. Besides, I don’t really want to be home right now,” I said.
I watched as confusion morphed to understanding.
“Oh,” she said. “Right. Well… you can stay with me,” she said.
With her and her three roommates, all of whom seemed louder than the last? I couldn’t think of a worse torment.
“It’s fine,” I insisted.
“Then I will stay with you.”
The absolute last thing I wanted was for her to be in danger in case any of those guys got some ideas to come back for me.
“We’ll talk about this later, okay?” I pleaded, not mentally able to argue with her with my head pounding and stomach swirling and reeling from punching bag pain—that I, apparently, wasn’t allowed to take any meds for, thanks to my concussion.
“Okay,” she relented, picking up on my mood. “But I’m gonna stop by your work at lunch to check on you.”
“Good. You can bring me coffee. And something to settle my stomach.”
“All the bland food,” she assured me. “What?” she asked as I sighed.
“I have no clothes anymore. The police took it all,” I told her.
“Oh, right. Ah…”
“They’ll give me something from the lost & found.”
“Ew,” Lottie said, lip curling. “Ah, we probably have like an hour before all the paperwork is done and stuff, right?”
“Probably,” I agreed, even though I had no clue.
“We’re only a few blocks away from a bunch of little shops. I can grab you something to wear.”
I wanted to object. It wasn’t like we were close to some cheap big box store. They were all little boutique businesses that cost a small fortune for just a tee or yoga pants. But I really didn’t want to wear lost & found clothes.
“My treat,” she insisted as I reached for my purse.
“No,” I objected. Lottie was doing okay, especially since she was sharing her bills with roommates. But I was a lot more stable. “Take my card,” I insisted, pushing it toward her, knowing that of the two of us, I was the stubborn one.
“Fine,” she grumbled. “But I am buying you coffee and something plain. Bagel? Croissant?”
“Anything bland,” I agreed. I was teetering on that edge where food might make me actually finally throw up, or it might settle my stomach once and for all. I wasn’t taking any chances on anything crazy.
“Got it. I’ll be as fast as I can,” she said, giving me a smile, then rushing out.
I was glad for the alone time to head back into the bathroom, using their supplied toothbrush and paste to brush my teeth, and doing a quick whore’s bath to hold me over, then making my way out to wait.
Less than an hour later, I had a pair of overpriced cream-colored linen shorts and a black tee on, a coffee in my hand, and a half-eaten croissant in a bag beside me in the ride-share.
Lottie and I were heading in different directions, so we took different drivers. Hers, back to Redemption to pick up her car. Me, to the studio only twenty minutes late.
There was a group of musicians standing around outside the long, low building, looking around, confused why they weren’t allowed in for their practice.
A few feet from them was a woman standing there with headphones on and reading a book.
Not a musician. An audiobook narrator who rented time in our smallest recording studio because she claimed her dogs could sense when she wanted quiet, and immediately started barking at squirrels and and shadows and dust bunnies.
I thanked my driver who encouraged me to try to take it easy, then climbed out.
I braced myself for their outrage. They had appointments, after all.
But as soon as everyone turned to look at me, their anger fell away, replaced instead with shock and concern.
“Oh, my God! Are you okay?” the narrator asked, her hand flying to her heart.
“I’m… hanging in there,” I said. “I was carjacked,” I told them all, telling what felt like the closest thing to the truth without getting too personal.
Luckily, the carjacking story didn’t leave a lot of room to ask questions, so everyone just begged me to go home, to take care of myself, not to worry about their appointments.
I brushed that all away, just wanting them tucked away in their soundproof rooms, so I could have silence myself.
Half an hour later, I had the lights dimmed and my head in my hands, just rocking back and forth on my office chair, wondering how long a migraine could last before it finally let go of me.
The food had no impact on my swirling stomach, and I figured maybe that was because it was related to the blow on my head as well.
That meant I just had to endure until I could get some sleep later.
