Page 35 of Bossy Grump's Secret

"How much more accurate could you get?" I groan and rub the back of my head, trying to hit it for some miraculous shock-healing hack. It exaggerates the pain, and I wince, "My head is killing me."

She hurries off to her bag and comes out with a bottle. "Aspirin"? Lily offers, pouring two pills into her tiny hand and stretching them out to me. I accept with gratitude.

"Thanks, although I might need something stronger. Maybe a shot of morphine or an overdose of that." I reach to grab the bottle, but she hinders me from doing so.

"I'm not going to over-medicate you. Sleep in if you need it. Dylan will understand," she tells me. "If you go to the walk-in clinic, they won't prescribe bed rest unless they confirm its something that needs it."

I shake my head, causing more pain. "A headache shouldn't be enough reason to sleep in. It's pathetic, and Dylan won't take that lame excuse," I groan. Lily still cannot understand the dynamics of our relationship. That we're dating doesn't entitle me to any special privileges.

Concerning his body, it does, but... I digress.

"It'd be insensitive of me to force him to pardon me just because of a headache," I grunt.

"Well, I just don't want you to pass out. The floors are made of marble unless you're lucky enough to pass out on a carpet," she warns.

"Who passes out from a headache?" I laugh as I take off my clothes and step into the shower. The shower filters out most of the sounds, but I hear her say “me”, and I chuckle.

Of course she has.

The shower does its best to relieve the headache, but before we leave our room, it's back again... with an agonizing fury. So much so that I don't know what happens for a few seconds until I hear Lily struggling beneath me.

"What happened?" I steady myself.

"It's the effect of the headache," she huffs. "You should see a doctor," she suggested.

I guess I would.

"Maybe later in the day... Let me give it time to wear off. If it doesn't, I'll use it as an excuse to extend my lunch break," I smirk lazily and leave the room with her following behind, probably to catch me if I fall again.

Frankly, I'm surprised she could hold my weight. When we get to the lobby, I see Dylan looking worse than I do. Then again, he always looks worse than me in the morning. We're one of the earliest up, so I am considering communicating my condition to him. Still, when I offer a greeting, he responds with his usual stoicism.

I want him to give me a little attention to tell him my problem, but he doesn't. Instead, he talks with another staff member about God knows what. I guess it's the headache that makes me take offence. It's usually normal for him to ignore me throughout the day and come to my room in the evening.

Just like that, when he gives us tasks, I feel offended. I must stress that this is not his fault, but I think he does it intentionally. Whether it is the headache's delusion or something else, I can't tell. I end up leaving without even so much as an acknowledgement. He must feel that gesture.

Now that I realize my public area duty is terrible, I would fare better within the room walls of the hotel. Within the next three or four hours, I register nothing but the incessant dull throb of pain that molests my skull. I have to take more rest breaks, but they must go unnoticed.

Unfortunately for me, today’s partner isn't a kind man; he insists he does all the work. I don't even bother explaining my condition. I doubt he'll listen, anyway.

"Listen, lass. I don't think you understand why you're here," he sasses when he feels he has endured enough of the “lone suffering."

Did he just call me a lass? Who uses that term in this part of civilization? Again, my irritation makes me take offence to everything, including a man calling me a lass, even though that's what I am. But my laziness makes me a slave to his insulting chants.

"You're here to work. No one is wearing this uniform sitting down like you are right now, not even our supervisor. So, if you don't want me to call ‘em, I suggest you do what is needed and get yourself together," he raves. I look him dead in the eyes and roll my eyes.

Sue me.

I feel like I should reserve my energy for when he finally reported me, which he does promptly. I can see the reluctance in Dylan's walk as he approaches me, but I summon all the energy I can muster and look up at him.

"Ava, come on, you cannot keep doing this. Get up," he says gently but firmly. "I guess no more lobby duty for you, then. You seem to hate it so mu..."

He takes a closer look at my face.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I insist. I do not know why I say that. I'm supposed to tell him how I'm feeling, but I'm currently feeling angry for an unknown reason.

"What do you mean ‘nothing’? Ava, you look like you're about to pass out." He turns to the man that reported to me."How did you not notice this?"

---