September 6th 1996, 5:30pm.

I'm currently sitting at the hotel. After that little accident that happened at Michael's rehearsal, he said he didn't want me to risk getting almost hurt by anything else.

"Do you wanna watch something?" asks Michael.

"Uh, I'm actually really tired, so..."

He glances up at the analogue clock on the wall and says, "Sweetheart, its 5:30pm. Do you feel okay?"

"Fine, really. Just jetlag, I'll be okay though. Goodnight Michael," I say and then kiss him on the cheek.

I walk into the room I unpacked my stuff in earlier and sit on the bed. I can hear the fans chanting Michael's name from outside the window. Then reality hit me and I really start feeling sick. I'm trapped in 1996 with no way out. I have no one to talk to; I miss my mom and even miss my dad, even though I haven't seen him since I was nine. My parents have been having some divorce issues. And then there's my twenty-two year old sister, Lola. She never spoke to me or my mom after she left to go to college, but strangely enough now, I miss her.

I have no idea what to do. I feel queasiness in my stomach, then this tightening sensation in my chest. My breaths are becoming quicker and I feel suffocated. Then before you know it, I run into the bathroom and lean over in the toilet bowel and start vomiting. I gasp for air, but my body won't let me stop. I keep throwing up, over and over again for heaven knows how long know. I feel pressure in my chest from the vomiting sensation, but I still can't stop.

After what seems like over ten minutes, I slowly get up, taking the time to recuperate myself, and flush the toilet. I take out my toothbrush and brush my teeth. I look at my face in the mirror and I'm completely pale. Now I'm light-headed and more scared than I've ever felt before.

I slowly make my way out of the bathroom, clutching my stomach and see Michael sitting on the bed with a look of concern on his face. "Carmella, I heard vomiting noises. Are you alright? How do you feel?" he pressed his hand up to my forehead. "You don't feel hot, but I'm calling a doctor anyway."

"No, really, I'm fine," I lied.

"Carmella you can't just vomit like that and not have a reason for it. Did you eat something maybe?"

"I don't think I did. But honestly, I think I'm getting better now."

He ignores my statement and continues to dial a number on the hotel phone. I lie back down on the bed, I really do feel bad everywhere. And not just concerning my health; I'm petrified just by being here.

"Thank you, bye," Michael says on the other line and hangs up the phone. He looks over at me, "You don't look too good. The doctor will be here in a half hour."

"Okay," I simply say.

He sighs and rubs my back. "I'm sorry about this, my little hero."

I smile at his words. About exactly half an hour later, there's a knock on the door and there stands a man in a doctor's suit.

"Welcome," Michael says, motioning inside. The doctor looks surprised, but doesn't say anything. Instead, he clears his throat and walks inside.

As soon as the doctor sees me, he says in a Czech accent, "Let's check you out for any infections." He takes his stethoscope and holds it up to my chest and back.

"Say 'Ah' for me," he instructs while holding out a wooden stick.

I do as I am told and he checks my throat with a little light.

"What are some symptoms you are feeling?"

"Well, I'm nauseous and light-headed...a little bit."

"How long have you felt this way?"

"Since about..." I stop and think then answer, "When I woke up on the plane this afternoon."

"I can't see anything wrong with you, but I do advise you get some rest and drink plenty of fluids. And eat dry, healthy snacks in small portions instead of anything unhealthy."

"Can she still travel with me?" asks Michael.

"At the moment, it looks like she'll be needing rest for a few more days before she can physically do anything else. Other than that, I'm guessing she'll be up and ready real soon," he says.

"Really, I feel fine. I guess I was just a little nervous," I interrupt.

"Thank you doctor, I appreciate it," says Michael.

"No worries." The doctor then leaves the hotel.

"Sweetheart if you don't feel well, I don't want you to hide it. I'm concerned about you," Michael says, stroking my hair.

"I just want to sleep," I mumble.

"Okay then." He kisses my forehead. I'm already in my pyjamas, so he then helps tuck me in.

"Sleep well and feel better," he says one more time before turning the light out. "Oh and if you need anything, I'm right next door." He then shuts the door and I'm all alone again. And I try my hardest to fall asleep.

___

Please let me know what you think of it and if i should continue :)

-Demi.