His Appeal

Chapter Twelve

“…dead?”

“Just…and stinking drunk.”

“Do you think I…hospital.”

Doug mentally groaned as his brain slowly came back on line.  His head felt like there were jackhammers pounding on his skull from the inside and his body was aching in places it had no business even feeling.

“…wake him up?”

Doug tried to focus on the muffled voices, but he really just wished they’d stop.  He wasn’t sure if they were real or his imagination and he didn’t have the strength to open his eyes to find out.  And then he did.

Ice cold water rained down on Doug, causing him to sit up abruptly and his eyes to fly open.

“Son of a bitch,” Doug cursed when his frantic flailing not only failed to get him out of the freezing shower, but also slammed his head into the side of the bathtub.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Camille said in a syrupy voice.  She let the water run for a full ten seconds longer before turning off the shower.

“Damn it, Camille,” Doug muttered.  He pushed himself into a full sitting position and glared at his friends.  “Was that necessary?  And why am I in the tub?”

“You’re in the tub because you drank so much I didn’t trust you not to puke or piss yourself in your sleep,” Thad said throwing Doug a towel.

“Yes, it was necessary,” Camille told him.  She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped a foot.  “You decided to drink yourself stupid, again I might add, and this idiot didn’t tell me until this morning.”  She took a deep, cleansing breath.  “Do you have any idea how lucky you are to be alive right now?  Do you know how monumentally stupid it is to drink that much over such a short period of time?”

“So you thought a heart attack was a better way to go?” Doug asked sarcastically.

“At least you woke up, dumbass,” Camille said, her voice thick with emotion.  “Take a shower,” she said turning her back on him.  “You reek of alcohol.”

Doug met Thad’s eyes as Camille stormed out the bathroom.  “You told her?”

“Everything,” Thad confirmed.  “But I think that,” he tossed a thumb over his shoulder toward the door, “was more of a reaction to the fact that we’re finding you in this condition more and more frequently.”

“I haven’t been drunk in months,” Doug protested weakly as he stepped out of the tub and pulled at his sopping clothes.  “You guys just happen to have the misfortune of being the only people I trust when I drink.”

“Maybe not drunk,” Thad agreed, stepping back as Doug began removing his shoes and socks.  “But Doug, how often are you drinking?  Once a month, on the weekends, every day?  Has it increased from one drink to two or three?”

“What’s your point?” Doug growled.  He stopped undressing and met Thad’s eyes.

“My point is,” Thad stressed each word.  “You’ve created a toxic situation for yourself.  You weren’t happy and quit your job to do volunteer work—”

“Pro-bono,” Doug corrected.

“Whatever,” Thad shook his head.  “The fact is you were discontent.  You made this huge change and it put you in contact with a woman who decimated you in your adolescence.  You went insane and instead of doing the right thing and passing her off onto another volunteer lawyer, excuse me pro-bono lawyer,” Thad corrected when Doug cleared his throat.  “Instead of doing the right thing, you hatched some half-assed plan of revenge.”