Relapse.

When I woke up, I was in that damn hotel room, the one I was supposed to be sharing with Mike. I groaned. Mike looked from the newspaper to me.

“You’re up,” he said. I nodded slowly.

“How you feeling?” he asked, sitting on the bed next to me. I shrugged.

“Dead,” I decided. He smiled and kissed my forehead.

“That’s better than being dead,” Mike said. He looked at me. “Can I tell you something?” he asked.

“Shoot,” I sighed. He sighed too.

“I love you,” he said, leaning down to kiss me. When our lips connected, I felt so much....higher, than I ever did with drugs. He pulled away after what seemed like hours.

“I love you too,” I smiled, running my hand through his hair. He smiled, and laid down next to me.

“Mike?” I asked.

“What?”

“Can we never talk about this again? Like the whole....”I trailed off. He nodded.

“Not a word. But I have a question,” he said.

“What?” I questioned.

“Did Pete know?” he asked. I nodded.

We never did talk about it, for the rest of the tour. Mike and I knew though, but we never really thought it was important. Until...about three months later.

The End.