Do You Think You're Up For This?

“It's messed up how it's all in my head, yet it's affecting me oh so bad. I guess this distance just makes me sick.” - Powerspace

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Suzie

I wake up in my bunk the next morning with a major headache throbbing in my temples.

It takes me awhile to remember what happened last night, but the details are fuzzy.

I remember kissing Alex, and the memory makes my stomach turn. I feel sicker and more nauseous than I already am.

I want to punch myself in the face, just so it'll hurt me more than it would hurt Mike if he knew.

“Are you okay?” I hear, my bunk’s curtain whipping open and letting the light in.

“The fuck, Seb. What do you want?” I moan, burying my face in my pillow.

“Rae tried to wake you up earlier. We have sound check in an hour. You’re lucky we didn’t have press today.” I mumble something incoherent in response. “We brought leftovers from lunch,” he offers, sliding the curtain closed again.

I fall asleep again after a few minutes.

I jerk back awake, at my phone vibrating in the back pocket of my jeans I fell asleep in last night.

The text is from Alex.

I’m so sorry. Can we still be friends?

I quickly type back an apologetically rambling message in reference to the kiss that I could easily have just replied ‘yes’ to.

It’s then that I realize the bus is completely silent, it’s over an hour later, and I’ve missed half of sound check.

I take a couple aspirin, quickly run a comb through my long hair, and make my way to the venue.

Our guitar tech is setting up my equipment for me when I get there.

I wordlessly take my bass from him and arrange my mic to the right height. I feel Rae, Seb, and Jude’s stares burning holes through the back of my head. I ignore it and pluck the first few notes to our intro song.

“Can I get a little more feedback on the amp?” I ask our sound guy through my mic. I note that my voice is raw and raspy.

We’re done fifteen minutes later, and I put my bass on a nearby stand.

“Suzie,” Rae stops me with a hand on my arm before I get too far. “Are you okay?” she asks.

I open my mouth to make up some kind of excuse, and thankfully, my phone chooses that exact second to ring.

“Yeah, I just…gotta take this,” I hold up my phone as an excuse and start to walk away. “Hello?” I ask, without checking the caller id.

“Hey.” I silently curse myself for not looking.

“Oh. Mike,” I greet weakly.

“You sound sick,” he informs me.

“Just hung over,” I explain, massaging my temples; my headache’s coming back full force.

“Oh,” he says. All I hear on his end is light breathing for a few minutes. “I miss you,” he abruptly adds. As horrible and confused as I feel as a result of last night, I know I miss him too, even if I’m too proud to admit it.

Another communication problem to add to our list.

“Suze…” he begins, sighing. “I don’t want to be on break, I don’t even know why I asked you in the first place. I just want you to come home.”

I don’t know what to say to that except to remind him that Chicago's not ‘home,’ at least not in my mind.

So I say:

“Okay.” I pause, thinking of anything else acceptable to add. “I’m sorry. I’ll see you Saturday.”

For a few seconds, I’m worried he’ll ask what I’m sorry for.

Instead, he says:

“I love you.”

So I say:

“I know.”