Christine McVie:
I feel a familiar warmth below my head and move closer in toward it. It draws me in, imparting home-like feelings that I haven't been able to relate to in so long. I run my hand across the smooth fabric of my cotton sheets, with heat radiating from beneath it.
I go to open my eyes and I'm blinded by the sun streaming in between the drapes, opposite from the bed. I'm not used to sun coming in through my windows in my bedroom in the morning. I go to sit up, but I'm drawn back down to the bed from the ear splitting head ache that has invaded me. I hold my hand to the side of my head, from the pain feeling like a train has ran through and wiped away leaving hardly anything but regretful soberness. I hear a low moan from beside me and I finally realize that theres someone beside me. I look over my shoulder and allow my eyes to blink wide open. I stare across the blankets and my eyes meet my husband's. "Good morning, Chrissy." He drawled, nonchalantly.
In a panic, I bolt upright in bed, covering my exposed chest, with the white sheets. I take a moment to regain some composure. "What on earth have we done...." I gasped.
I don't give him enough time to answer before I'm rising from the bed, wrapping the rest of me with the remainder of the sheet, and scurrying to the end of the bed. "Wait... where are you going!?" He protests, almost as if he thinks this is a normal situation.
"Home, John. Whatever happened last night was a mistake, and we were both very drunk. I shouldn't have stayed the night, I should have went home." I disclaimed.
"But Chris, this is your home. Why do you have to act like its such an absurd thing for a man to wake up to his wife?"
"Because John, we haven't woke up together in months now, and I wasn't expecting for that to happen, and I'm as much as sure you weren't either."
He runs his hands through his hair, in a stressful manor and reaches over the bed to grab his boxers. I turn for the door, not wanting to have to continue this conversation any further. I'm hallway down the stairs before i realize I'm only dressed in a bed sheet. I spin around and he's at the top of the stairs, holding my belongings in his hands, with a smug look written across his face. "Aren't you forgetting your clothes, love?"
I snatch them from his hands and go through them. I reach for my underwear which he's holding behind his back. "John, you bastard, give me the damn thing."
He knows I'm not in the mood, and holds them out for me to take. I march back down the stairs and into the bathroom, shedding the sheet and replacing it with the skimpy costume from the night before. I head straight back out to the car, taking my purse with me and drive straight home.
⋱⋰*⋱⋰*⋱⋰*⋱⋰*⋱⋰*6 Weeks Later⋱⋰*⋱⋰*⋱⋰*⋱⋰*⋱⋰*
Stevie Nicks:
I see Chris run off down the hall again, and rise up from my chair. "I'll take care of her, this time." I report, going after Christine.
This has been the third time today she's gotten sick. I don't know what has gotten into her. She's been eating hardly anything, and she's been even quieter than usual. She won't talk to me, and every time John goes anywhere near her, it looks like she's about to vomit. Almost like she's afraid of confrontation with any of us.
I get to the bathroom and knock on the door. "Chris, I'm coming in... okay?"
I open the door, using a little bit of my teachings from last week and shut it quickly behind me. I kneel down beside her and take her hair in my hands and hold it away from her face. She grips the toilet bowl tightly in her hands as she cursing in between under her breath. Once she's finished I help her clean up and I sit her down on the toilet seat. "Chris, are you sure you're feeling alright? If this was food poisoning it would have-"
