After our blow up the day before, I chalked Fran up as a loss.

Not that it was that big of a deal.

I hadn't invested much time with her, so the loss of her friendship didn't really matter all that much to me.

*****

I had the headache from hell.

Stress, the accident, and pains in the asses like Fran were hurting my brain. I don't know what causes them, but when I forget to take my medication, I get headaches and they go from bad to worse at their own whim.

The medication doesn't work after one of them starts, so once the headache happens, I just have to ride it out.

When Fran called me again this morning to try and make amends about the day before, I was surprised but I was so nauseated by the headache, I tried to put her off.

She was adamant that we talk right away and get things resolved, so I said yes against my better judgment.

And then my head exploded.

*****

I woke up in the hospital, Fran and Barbra standing at the side of my bed.

"What happened?" I asked, sitting up so quickly that I felt a little light headed. "Why am I in a hospital?"

"You passed out at Mocha Daze," said Fran. "You fell behind the bar and cracked your head on the tile."

I reached my hand to the back of my head. I could feel the stiff wire-like prick of the stitches and the small, smooth patch where they'd shaved the hair.

"Does it hurt?" asked Barbra.

"No, I'm fine." I turned to Fran. "Did you bring me here?"

"The ambulance did," she said. "I called them."

"I owe you one," I said, embarrassed that she'd seen me like this. The couple of other times I'd passed out, I'd wet my pants.

I didn't even want to go there.

"I'll collect later," said Fran, winking at me. "I gotta go. Just wanted to make sure that you were okay."

"Thanks," I said. "I'm sorry about yest..."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "We'll talk later."

*****

"Are you sleeping with her, Steve?" Barbra asked, as soon as Fran left the room.

"Jealous?" I said, motioning for her to hand me my pants folded on a chair.

"She's pretty. She winked at you," she said, handing me the pants.

They smelled slightly like urine. Damn it. "She's a dyke, Babs."

"Does that mean no?"

I put on my pants. They were still damp. "If I slept with everyone you thought I did, I wouldn't have anytime to do anything else."

"You haven't answered the question."

"Barbra, listen. Fran is a lesbian. They don't sleep with men. We're just trying to be friends."

"She wants something from you."

"If she does, then I guess we'll find out."