NJ22

September 10, 2004 (Late evening)

Cyeatea? Cyeatea? I had to have heard incorrectly. I had to. I won't know until I dreamwalk again and that may be
a while.

When I heard the word I think my head exploded. Someone definitely sneaked into the bedroom and took a
sledgehammer to the side of my head in search of grey matter. I'm sure of it.

I get migraines sometimes. The killer kind. Nothing will help stop the pain. Well, lack of loud noises does help. A
cool darkened room. But that's about it. Sometimes Tylenol #3 helps mute it a bit but only if I can catch it just at
the onset of the pain.

I jumped out of the bed and grabbed the pill bottle, muttering to myself. "I hope I caught it. I hope I caught it,"
knowing it was unlikely as I felt the unpleasant telltale rolling of my stomach and the familiar silvery squiggle that
blotted out a part of my vision. I squatted, putting my head in my hands and rocked back and forth a few minutes,
focusing on the pain to go away. (Yeah, like THAT was gonna help.)

Three days. Three days minimum were going to be lost. This was a bad one, no question. The silver squiggle
didn't just blot out a little bit of my vision. This time it announced it's bright presence in half my vision…and it
hung around. That was bad. The longer the squiggles hung around the worse the migraine was going to end up.

The drunk driver was dead but his legacy hung around.

I don't know how long I squatted there, rocking back and forth fighting back tears of pain. The next thing I
remembered was cool soft hands gently stroking the back of my head and a soft voice in my ear. She was
practically whispering. Bless her.

"Bad one, huh, hon?" Fleur asked.

"Yeah," I croaked out while trying to sit up. I stopped trying as I fought back a gag. "Oh god. I've gotta get to the
bathroom."

"No prob." With ease Fleur lifted me and got me there. Barely in time. Last nights dinner, pleasant as it was,
decided to leave the hard way. With each spasm of my stomach my head throbbed and I groaned. Fleur held my
head, placing a cool cloth on the back of my neck and stroking my back until the spasms subsided.

She helped me clean the sour taste from my mouth and carefully got me back to bed.

The worst thing about these migraines is not the pain. It's that Johnathon is not here to help me through them. He
was always there to hold me during the worst of them but they never compared to the ones I've suffered since the
accident. That only made it worse. I get a migraine. I need Johnathon. He's not there. I want to cry. So I need
Johnathon to hold me during my tears and again, he's not there. Spiraling depression mixed with migraines is a
truly bad mix.

Fleur sat at the edge of the bed for I don't know how long, just stroking my brow with her cool hand. I finally fell
asleep.