Say you love me

Part 3

The Next Day, around 1 PM:
The bright afternoon sun streamed through the shitty hotel blinds and right into Christines eyes, waking her up. Fuck me, she thought. Why can't the blinds do their fucking job once in a while? Her forehead ached,as she had refused medication last night for her stitches, she didn't want to be all loopy and out of her mind. Besides, it was only three little stitches, how bad could they hurt?
It turns out that stitches can hurt even worse than the cuts themselves. They hurt tremendously, a pain that flared whenever Chris moved her eyes around or moved too quickly. Her cheeks, thank God, weren't serious enough for stitches. Chris hadn't even wanted stitches, she only went to the hospital because of everyone's insistence and the doctor had pushed the stitches, giving some bullshit excuse about avoiding infection from being open. Infection her ass; Chris had bigger things on her mind. Christine groaned as she sat up, then groaned even louder when she saw the time. 1 fucking PM. Just fucking peachy, she had rehearsal at 2 then another show starting at 7, and after everything that went on last night, Chris suddenly didn't seem too up to it.
It had taken her forever to fall asleep because of the pain in her forehead. She could've taken Tylenol and would've sold her soul for two of those little godsends, but she'd ran out a week ago when she had her period and didn't have yet a chance to buy more.
After throwing on a pair of jeans and her favorite Grateful Dead top (hopefully wearing her favorite top would make the day not seem so horrid), and after brushing her teeth and fixing her bangs so they hid the white patch of gauze that was so conspicuous, Chris went out for the biggest cup of coffee she could find.
In the hotel café, sitting at a small table with her large coffee and a newspaper, Christine allowed herself, finally, to relax and sort her thoughts. The coffee was good, it was strong, had plenty of cream and quite aromatic, waking Christine's senses as well as her mind. She sipped it slowly, reading her paper and not caring what happened next.
"How's your head, Christine?"
Christine looked up with a start. She was too enclosed to notice that John was now next to her sitting down.
"Oh, my head's ok," She said, lifting up her bangs to show the gauze pad taped to her forehead. "These goddamn stitches hurt worse than the cuts actually. But at least my cheeks were spared."
"Yeah, or else you'd be in more pain."
"Exactly!" Christine sipped more of her coffee, trying to think of something to say. John was eating nothing, as he'd probably been up for hours and eaten earlier.
John's hands were fidgeting again, just as they had been last night in the dressing room. Suddenly he looked up and smiled brightly.
"What part of England are you from?"
"Bouth. It's a small little village in Cumbria. Nice, but I don't like to spend too much time there, though I do go back occasionally to visit my parents. And you?"
"I'm from Ealing, which is in London. It's rather nice, and I do miss it a bit but I'm happy to be in America."
Christine smiled and said, "Look at us, just a couple of foreigners in another country! I can't even order chips without them messing it up! It's crazy." She pushed her mug to the side like it no longer interested her, which it didn't. They spoke for a few minutes of dull, mundane things; laughed together a few times at jokes that weren't very funny. They spoke of show times and setlists.
God, John looked lovely; even in a t-shirt and trousers. His hair brushed the collar of his shirt and his beard was neatly trimmed. His beautiful brown eyes reminded Christine of sunlight shining through whiskey, and looked deep enough to stare into her very soul. Then his lips, oh his lips! They just begged to be kissed. Christine wanted so much to kiss him, but she knew she couldn't. She cleared her throat and said,
"God, I miss tea. Not the cold shit they have here, but a real cup of proper hot English tea! The best I have now is coffee."
She gestured to her mug. John chuckled.
"Well, you won't believe this, but there's a nice little tea shop around here that makes the best Earle Grey I've had since leaving England. I'd love to take you." He stood up from the table, then in a hilarious mocking gesture, knelt down like a knight and offered his hand. "Miss Perfect, I'd be honored if I could take you out for tea." Christine checked her watch. 1:30 PM. Oh, hell! She could always skip rehearsal, she knew the songs like the back of her hand anyway... And when else would she get the chance for a cup of tea with John Mcvie? Christine smiled, then took Johns hand in her own.
"I do have rehearsal at 2, but fuck it to hell! Lead the way, kind sir!"
Together, John and Christine walked out of the hotel to the tea shop, searching for alone time together and a cup of home.