Free Get What You Need by Jeanette Grey Page B

heels of his hands into his eye sockets. When he looked at the screen again, it was still there, though, that shining rainbow haze. He groaned. Now? Really?
    Hardly glancing away, he tugged at his desk drawer and grabbed the ibuprofen to shake two out into his palm. He really, really didn’t want to need his script tonight. It left him useless and groggy. Less useless than he would be if this turned into one of those dry-heaving sorts of nights.
    The migraines had been coming since he was a kid, but they hadn’t been this bad since he was a senior in high school. Funny, that. Almost like stress was a trigger. Washing the tablets down with a swig of Coke, he looked over his to-do list. Maybe he could just get this one last thing done before he had to turn off the lights and wish he’d never been born.
    He slid his glasses on and refocused on the screen. His proposal for the symposium the department was hosting later this fall had been accepted, which was great, which was awesome , but now he had to get this presentation put together by the end of the month, on top of everything else. Just another three slides…
    Somehow, he got through it. By the time he finished the last piece, though, it was an hour later, and his skull felt like it was pressing in. Tugging his glasses off, he saved the file and backed it up to the server, then lurched out of his chair. As soon as the light was off, he felt a hundred times better, which was saying a lot, considering he still felt like his head had been run over.
    Nothing for it.
    Fumbling in the dimness, he got the little orange bottle out and fished around for a single pill. He swallowed it down and stumbled toward his bed. And this was the worst. He’d maybe fall asleep once the meds kicked in, but for now all he could do was curl up in a ball and shake and try to keep his dinner down.
    He closed his eyes and floated for a while. Thoughts of all the work he had to do kept creeping up, but that way led to a trip to the emergency room for a shot of Demerol in his thigh, and, yeah, no. He should go grab his phone or something and put on some music, something quiet to drift along to, but just the thought of getting up made his stomach turn. And so it was darkness and silence and shifting to try to keep the cool part of his pillow against his face without actually moving and setting himself off again.
    He was finally edging in and out when a series of quick knocks on his door exploded across his brain. He swore and forced an eye open, and that hurt, but it didn’t hurt quite as much as it had—he did the math in his head—an hour and a half ago. Thank you, Maxalt.
    Another sharp rapping sound rang out, and crap, he didn’t remember scheduling anything with Ronnie or any of the other guys tonight, but who knew? Burying his head in the pillow, he mumbled, “Go away, I’m dead.”
    There was just a beat of hesitation, and then a voice that was not Ronnie’s saying, “Oh. Um. Sorry.”
    Greg snapped his head up and then cursed out loud, because, fuck. He dropped his head and rubbed his temple. That was Marsh at the door. He didn’t want to be a dick to him.
    His throat tore and his head ached as he called out, wincing, “Wait.”
    And it didn’t make any sense. Greg had been working so hard to seem cool, and to keep himself together in front of Marsh. Marsh had kept coming back, again and again, so it must have been working. It would be sheer idiocy to let Marsh see him now, when he was ready to pass out or puke from the pain. But he…wanted Marsh. He was hurting, and he wouldn’t want any kind of human contact, normally, but the idea of Marsh coming in here was different, somehow.
    Greg swallowed hard. The last time he’d had a regular boyfriend, two or three years ago, sometimes, when the migraines had come, the guy had let Greg lie there with his head in his lap in the dark. He’d rubbed Greg’s shoulders and combed his fingers through his hair and told him quietly about his