Page 27 of Moros
“Is something wrong—with him right now?”
“He has a migraine.” Boswell explained. “They get pretty bad—side effects of war, I think.”
“War—”
“He doesn’t sleep much—the doctors gave him medication to help but he hasn’t been taking them.”
“Why not?”
“They make him feel like a zombie.” Boswell explained. “He gets the migraine when he hasn’t really slept in a while.”
“Should he be riding right now?”
“It’s the only thing that helps him.” Boswell stood and began gathering the empty bottles.
“Maybe we should go after him.”
“He’ll be fine.” Boswell told me as he headed toward the kitchen. “When he feels better, he’ll surface.”
6
KHADRI “MOROS” WESTON
I didn’t go back to the house that night. Instead, I stayed in my office at Musk. I wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway so it didn’t matter where I was suffering my insomnia from.
After making a snack in the kitchen, I was getting comfortable when my phone rang. It surprised me to see Dude’s name pop up.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“You good?” Dude asked. “Your people are worried. Do I need to send the calvary?”
I chuckled. I knew when he said your people he meant Pasha.
“I’m fine.” I replied. “I don’t need back-up. I just need this migraine to fuck off.”
“You’re still getting those?” Dude wanted to know. “Let me guess. You aren’t taking the medication.”
“I don’t feel like myself when I take them.” I admitted. “And I’ll take one, fall asleep in my bedroom and wake up in the bathtub—Dude, I can’t take them because I never know where I’ll be when I wake up.”
Dude sighed. “One of those cases where the side-effect is worse than the actual ailment.”
“The last time I woke up trying to start my truck, without the keys.”
“That’s dangerous. Maybe have the medication modified?”
“Naw.” I bit into my sandwich.
I chewed for a silent moment before speaking again.
“I’ll be on those things for the rest of my life and?—”
“You have the money to pay for it.”
“It’s not the money.” I confided. “It’s the dependence. I can deal—I just—right now it feels like my skull is trying to battle brain. I’d kill for a shot of whiskey right now, but booze makes it worse.”
“Maybe try getting some sleep—or stretch out on your back, close your eyes, turn off all the lights.” Dude suggested. “Let go of everything for tonight. I’m assuming stress makes it worse.”
“You could be right.”