Put Your Heart Where Your Mouth Is

We'd made a four hour dent in the eight hour ride to Cleveland. No one was talking anymore. The excitement died off the second we hit the interstate, but I wasn't up to talking anyways.

I'd been throwing up constantly, with no reason as to what or why. Wren said it was stress. Kennedy said it was bad taco meat. Garrett said I was allergic to John. Despite all of that, I still didn't bother picking a valid excuse. I was sick. And for the first time in three weeks, I wanted to go home. Badly.

I was busy playing Tetris on my phone. I had six rows built up, where only the long, skinny rectangle would fit. I looked up, meeting John's eyes. I missed. Game over.

I sighed, and shoved my cell phone back into my baggy sweatpants. I pulled at the bottom of my flannel shirt, and curled up in a little ball on the corner of the bench seat.

I was stuck in the middle of the van, where everyone could see me moping. I'd gotten placed next to the window, of course, because I couldn' keep down the food I hadn't been eating lately.

Wren, who was completely and irrevocably emetophobic. If she saw me throwing up, she would throw herself into shock just by freaking herself out. She was using my iPod, and holding her hands closed to her ears just in case she needed to cover them. She kept her eyes off me, focusing straight ahead. She was prepared.

I, who was currently drinking root beer, was not. Someone was holding my hair, thank God, and Matt was pulling over to the side of the road. I glanced up, though I was...busy, and saw him flick on the hazard lights. I felt dangerous. Wren was crying into Kennedy's chest, shaking with literal fear.

When I was done, I wiped my hand on a Wendy's napkin, and we stopped at the nearest gas station. I grabbed my flannel blanket, threw it over my shoulders, and noticed that someone was watching out for me.

John, being the one who held my hair, led me inside so I could buy a new tooth brush. I'd gone through three today. It was such a waste, but because I might infect Wren, GOD FORBID, I had to throw them all away.

"Are you sure you're empty?" John asked, eyeing me up and down. I looked like shit. He didn't need to look at me that way. I knew I looked like a drug pusher with morning sickness. Maybe that was just the way I rolled.

"Are those new shoes?" I asked bluntly, glancing down at the new Dunks. They were white, and expensive looking.

He nodded hesitantly. "Yes."

"Then I hope I am." I said, moving past him for the girls' bathroom. He was standing outside, taking up post to make sure I didn't pass out, or worse-- throw up again. I knew my priorities were out of order. With him around, I didn't think straight.

When I came out again, looking fresh to death, John wrapped his arm around me like nothing was wrong, and helped my tiny frame back into the van.

Everyone was staring. Garrett's tired hazel eyes looked more worried than usual--I was scared that I'd gotten him sick too. He was suddenly all I could think about. I could've gotten anyone sick, so why was Garrett the main focus?

Nothing made sense. I wanted John to come back to me, and admit that he still loved me. I wanted Garrett to be alright, but that wasn't all. I wanted him to care about me, and talk to me like we were friends.

We sat through the awkward car rides, and sound checks, not sure what to say about our little hallway outburst. Lenetta, the maid, asked me if my boyfriend and I were fighting. She was referring to Garrett and I. That was another countless reason why I still wasn't sleeping through the night.

"Do you want to stop and see a doctor when we get there? Our gig isn't until tomorrow." Garrett offered.

Kennedy's eyes widened in panic. "Dude, you do not want to take Andy to the doctor. Not only does she freak out, she gets even more sarcastic. It's frightening, really."

"I don't care." Garrett said, turning to look at me. "Don't you trust me not to let the doctor kill you?"

"I'll go." I said. I didn't think that one through, and I knew I'd regret it later.

Oh, well. Whatever.