You feel as though you've just been hit by a 16-wheeler, and actually stagger to the floor as your headache returns, much worse than before. Jamie jumps up and dashes behind the counter, helping you to your feet.
"Andrew, are you alright? You look white as a sheet."
"I'm fine, just a really bad headache."
"Are you sure?" Jamie replies uneasily, "Maybe I should drive you home."
You shake you head, and immediately regret it, with fresh waves of pain rolling over you from the movement. "What about the club? I'm the only one working tonight."
"Fuck the club, you're sick! Or um... unwell. Look, we'll call someone in. Maybe Dave can cover for you."
Noticing that Jamie's arms are still supporting you, you realize that he's right - there's no way you can keep working in this condition, slow night or not. "OK, I'll call-"
"You're not doing jack, Andrew. Here, take my keys, I'm just around the corner. Go and lie down and let me call for you. I'll be out in a minute, alright?"
"Yeah, fine," you mumble, finding yourself too drained to argue.
You take the keys, shove them into your pocket, and head out to Jamie's car. The walk around the corner seems to take forever, and you run into a group of drunken students along the way, eliciting some rude shoves and catcalls, but eventually you make it. Fumbling through your pocket for the keys and cursing your stupidity for putting them there in the first place, you reverse your pocket in frustration, and the keys tumble to the ground, along with a small bottle - the pills from the morning's debacle, you realize.
You grab the keys and the bottle, and let yourself into Jamie's car, a cute orange bug. You consider the bottle briefly, and decide to