“Yeah. I did.”
“Probably more,” Steven murmured. “How do you know you’re not hung over, then?”
“Migraines creep up on you. With me, they start at the back of my neck usually, and last for hours. Days, sometimes. Hangovers? I bet you woke up instantly feeling like shit.”
“True. I did.”
“And you know why you’re ill. Me? I have to put up with this crap whenever my body decides to rebel against me. This is like being hung over without the pleasure of being drunk first.”
“You were drunk, though.”
“And now I’m sober, and not hung over. Why? Because I drank plenty of water last night, and you, I reckon, are dehydrated.”
“You sound so smug.”
“Give it a few hours and you’ll be able to gloat. Once you’ve had a few gallons of caffeine, you’ll be right as rain. Me? I’ll get progressively worse. By lunchtime I’ll be ready to write my own will.”
“I’ll have a priest sent round to administer the last rites,” Gary commented, pushing his chair away from the table with a screech that grated on my nerves and made Steven wince.
“Tell him to call in to my office while you’re at it. I’m not even Catholic but if I’m gonna get through the pile of paperwork that’s due to appear on my desk, I’ll need divine intervention,” he said.
“Speaking of which, I think I’ll phone in sick while I’m still able to hold myself upright.” The part of me immediately behind my left eyeball had started to throb. Not a good sign.
“Now who’s the pussy?” Steven sniffed. “I still managed to have a shower this morning, even though it felt like fuckin’ bullets were coming out of the thing instead of water.”
“I can still work from home if needs be. Bill knows that.” I grimaced at the stabby eye-pain. Yep, definitely a migraine.
“I still don’t get why I’m hung over and you’re not. It’s not bloody fair.”
“What God gives with one hand, he takes away with the other. Besides, you mixed your drinks as I recall. Never mix grape and grain? At least I stuck to beer all night.”
“I’ll leave you two ladies to bitch at each other. Early start for me.” Gary threw back the rest of his morning coffee, thudded the mug onto the table, laughed at the pained reaction he got from both of us, and left.
Bastard slammed the door on his way out, too.
Standing and waiting for the kettle to boil was too much for me, so I gave myself the refuge of a seat at the kitchen table. Steven’s proximity played around with my blood pressure a little, but as I was already feeling like shit anyway, I didn’t see what harm it could do. Hell, maybe looking at him would make me feel better.
“You really phoning in sick?” Steven ventured.
I nodded, immediately wishing I hadn’t. “In all seriousness, I think I’ll have to. You must have seen the difference with your sister, right? She gets migraines, you said. They’re nothing like hangovers.”
“Yep. I guess. She said they’re sharper than other kinds of headaches? In one exact place, usually? Behind her eye or whatever.”
“I get them like that too. The pain creeps up the back of my neck and sticks behind one eye. I know what a hangover’s like—all over thudding, cured by drinking plenty and staying out of direct sunlight. And without the nausea. A migraine? Jesus, if it’s a bad one, it’s intense.”
“Maybe I should take the day off to look after you.” Steven spoke quietly, then lifted his head. Red-rimmed eyes searched my face for any reaction, and I wasn’t sure which kind to give.
“You have experience in that sort of thing?”
“Only with nursing Tiff through a bad one. She’s got her two to look after her now, though.”
“Two what? You have other brothers?”
“No.” Steven laughed, and for some reason I was glad to see him smile in the middle of the pain he must have been in. “Her two boyfriends.”
My eyebrows shot up and the sudden tug on my forehead, the widening of my eyes letting in more damn daylight, instantly made me regret the action.
“Yeah. She’s in a…how would you say it? Poly set-up with those two, Jason and Isaac.
Polyamorous, they call it.”
“Oh, yeah. You mentioned them, didn’t you?”
“Ah, so you were listening? She just doesn’t care what anyone thinks, God love her. She’s always telling people, our parents are so proud; I’m a whore and my brother’s a raging queer.”
“Not so raging, from what I can see.” Even in our mutual delicate state, I could still leer.
Could still appreciate his good looks.
“Less raging, more dog-rough.”
“Not in any state to look after me then,” I whispered. We caught each other’s eyes and something hung in the atmosphere between us, unsaid. Or maybe we each waited for the other to say it first, and lost our bottle.
“Nah, probably not,” Steven said, and his eyes narrowed momentarily. Maybe studying me, maybe just flinching in reaction to another hammer-blow inside his head. “Although I can’t believe you’re seriously considering taking the day off work. I don’t see why I should suffer if you get to bunk off.”
“Ah, Bill’s understanding, underneath it all.” I waved my hand while I still had some semblance of hand-eye coordination. “A hangover is a simple matter of being dehydrated. You get better as the day progresses if you drink enough water and coffee and juice and anything else you can lay your hands on. I’d rather have one of those than a migraine. My head?” I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. “Fuck, I wish I could get a head transplant sometimes.”
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Steven’s hand twitched on the worn surface of the table and for a moment I thought he was reaching out to me. By the time I’d realised it didn’t matter, there was no-one else in the house to discover
