Only Fools Rush In (And I Ain't No Fool)

I was dying. I just knew it.

Sometime during the conversation I had with Angus in the studio the other day, his cold had spread to me. Now here I was lying in my hotel room bed in nothing but a starry bathrobe; a pile of crumpled tissues beside me and bottles of various medicines I had brought along in my toiletries bag scattered on the nightstand. My head felt cloudy, my throat burned. If I didn't come out of this with some kind of secondary infection, it'd be a miracle. I kept the curtains on the window pulled shut so this sunny autumn day wouldn't disturb my self pity. I even considered unplugging the telephone just so I wouldn't be bothered. 

But it rang before I could.

I picked the phone up with a shaky hand and answered with an even shakier voice. "Hello?"

"Hannah? You okay?" Peter asked concerned. "I've been waiting outside the hotel for you for an hour now. Thought I'd give you a call." I groaned and placed the pillow over my head. "What does that mean?"

"It means I'm not coming out today," I grumbled. "In fact, I'm never showing my ogre face again." Peter sighed then starting laughing.

"Uh oh," he said. "Lover boy didn't get you sick, did he?" I sighed at the nickname. "Is the wedding off?"

"Don't call him that, he's just a friend," I said, my heart skipping a beat. "And yes. I'm sick." What shitty timing. Apparently Angus felt much better and was able to come back to work earlier than any of us thought. He wasn't completely cured but he acted much more like his old self. I could only hope the same would happen to me. But knowing my luck, I would be bedridden for two weeks. 

Or hospitalized.

"That sucks, man," Peter said and I nodded even though he couldn't see me. "You want me to let them know?"

"No, I don't want Angus to feel bad," I said. If Angus knew he got me sick he might blame himself and ruminate on it all day. Might as well take another day off work to grieve. Or he would shrug it off and leave me here to rot. "Tell them I'm....busy with work."

"Work?" Peter cried. "I bring you here for a well earned rest and you want to use work as an excuse?" 

"There is no rest for the wicked," I said. "I'm rotten to the core and I'm paying for it. Besides, I still have that company to call today. Tried all night and nothing so I'm trying again."

"I hope Ben didn't give you an outdated number," Peter muttered. "If he did I'll sock him one."

"Save an eye for me," I said and Peter laughed. I twirled the phone cord around my finger until it hurt then unwound it again. "Tell everyone I said hello."

"I will," Peter said. "And I'll give Angus a kiss for you too." I could see the evil grin on his childish little face. 

"Don't you dare," I said and coughed up a storm. Even though he couldn't catch my cold over the phone, I pictured him holding it far away from his face. "You might get sick anyway."

"True," Peter said. "I'll tell them you're too busy today, okay? Get better soon."

"Aye aye, captain," I mumbled and threw the phone in the general direction of the cradle. Sprawled out in bed, I waited for my imminent death.

Death didn't come. Surprisingly. The clock on the wall moved slower than molasses. Lying around in bed had me bored out of my mind so I sat up and cut up some more fabric from the sample I borrowed from the office. One tiny memory of sewing a bag in junior high had me thinking I could do it again. Making a bag should be much easier than making a dress.