It was inevitable; he knew that. Your days were numbered, and regardless of how careful you were, no matter how many precautions you took, you knew that you would eventually fall. The stomach bug had been making the rounds on the Pretty. Odd. tour, and unless you were one of the four band members who were being kept away from everyone else, you were fair game.

“My love?”

he called to you with concern in his voice, bursting into the bunk area just as you shut the bathroom door.

“Too slow; I saw ya! I brought reinforcements.”

The scene inside the compact space was not at all pretty. You were sprawled on the floor, limbs splayed out as wide as the restraining walls would allow. The toilet bowl was directly next to your head; as unappealing as the position was, you were terribly afraid that if you were too far away from it, you would make a mess all over the floor once the contents of your stomach decided to make a premature reappearance.