Damn, He Can't Compare

21. you make me sick

August 30th, 1986. Management office in Venice. 7:23 P.M.

Tears for Fears, Spandau Ballet and Martin were all hauled into management's office for an emergency meeting. "Roland Orzabal, you nearly destroyed any chance of fame and recognition your band was going to get by this little stunt. You all better be on time to every single venue or you're all been thrown out and I'll bring Duran Duran in. Do I make myself clear?

I could hear the yelling from down the hall, Spandau Ballet's tour manager sure was a hard ass. The boys exit the room looking defeated, and slightly vexed.

October 9th, 1986. Hotel in Glasgow. 8:47. A.M

I spring up in the bed, forcing my fingernails into my forehead, pressuring it to stop the booming migraine that spread over my brain. Last night was a wild blur, all I could remember was the concert then nothing. These continuous shows were really taking a toll on my body, all I wanted to do was go home at this point.

I stared down at my blue polished nails, as the stinging pain grew better. I curled my toes on the hard wood floor as I rose out of the bed. A sudden knock at the door startles me, "Come in." I called out, thinking it was Roland or Curt. Instead Kate waltz in.

I was honestly surprised to see her, "Where the hell have you been?" I asked, not having seen her in nearly a month. She shrugs her shoulders, placing down a box, "I went home and now I'm back."

She takes a second look at me and her face crinkles up in disgust, "You look awful." She said bluntly. I raised my eyebrows, "Thanks." I say barely caring about what I looked like at this point in the morning.

She grabbed my arm with her perfectly manicured fingers and pulls me onto a seat. "I brought you some clothes and make up." she says, pouting her lips out, "You're in serious need of a makeover."

She empties the box all over the bed, makeup scattered everywhere, all over the floor, under the bed and against the chair. I sigh, thinking about the fact that I will have to clean it up. She takes out a sponge and puts some sort of foundation on it.

I honestly didn't feel like doing this right now. My stomach grumbles oddly, and my head ached furiously. She starts dotting the cold sponge on my face, a strange lump fills my throat, I try to swallow it down, but it gets worse and worse.

"Shit." I breathed out, holding onto my stomach. I felt something vile building up, and I scrambled from the chair, rushing towards the bathroom with my hand covering my mouth. I fell onto my knees in front of the toilet, pushing the lid up as my throat burned throwing up.

My shoulders shook as I breathed heavily, relieving myself from the sickness. Lucky for me, Kate was grossed out and left the room. I fell against the bathroom on the floor and just sat there for a moment before getting up.

My legs shakily walked over to the phone, I sat on the edge of the bed and dialled the number. I waited impatiently for him to pick up the phone, "Hello?" he says on the other line, "Roland, I need you to come over here." He hung up the phone, and rushed straight over.