Beyond Blood

Rachel Wore It Better

Chapter 2
Rachel Wore it Better

A loud, blaring siren tore me from a dreamless sleep and tossed me into the bright world of the morning after. My hand flailed blindly for my phone before sleep cleared enough for me to realise it wasn't the usual chirping forest melody of my phone alarm that had so rudely awoken me. Reaching for the floor by my bed instead, I searched around until I managed to hit the space-bar on my ancient laptop to stop the horrible sound rinimg in my ears even after the room fell silent again.

A crack in my curtains cast a sheet of light across my floor, spilling onto my bed to blind me.

God my head hurt.

Peeling my lips apart, I nearly gagged at the taste of booze that lingered thick in my mouth. I could smell it too. Spilled drinks and leaning on a bar had coated my skin in a mix of sticky sweet liquid from shots, and the mustier odour of stale beer.

"What fresh hell," I groaned.

It took every ounce of strength to drag myself to the bathroom and shower, fighting back the bile burning my throat. Once I looked a little more human, I trudged through to the kitchen in search of food that wouldn't immediately come back up again.

A sticky note waited for me on the kettle as I set about making coffee, written in Laura's familiar loopy handwriting.

I text Ness to let him know you'd be by in the morning/afternoon for your phone. He replied he'd be in today for you and to just pop by. I'll hopefully be back by the time you are. Sorry again for leaving your phone!
Loz xx

With that in mind, I made myself a black coffee and drank it curled up on the couch while massaging my temples to ease the pounding headache that refused to budge. The cursed hangover was just one reason I didn't understand why people loved to drink.

I only gave myself an hour to recover after forcing down some dry toast, because we were out of butter, again. Then I dragged my ass back up and put a dab of concealer and mascara to bring some life to my skin before grabbing my keys and purse. It would be good to walk today. Hopefully the fresh air would reinvigorate me.

I soaked in the sun and breathed in the bustling activity of the city that chased away the last of my rough mood. It was impossible to feel sorry for yourself when children's laughter rang through the air, and the distant echo of an ice cream van's melody caused screams of delight.

It didn't take me too long before I reached the pub. In daylight, the large sprawling stone building looked much more innocent without the red lights lit beneath the black letters proclaiming The Blackbird. A bird itself was above the door, forged in black metal, Celtic in style, with knotwork embellishments making up the circle surrounding it. It was near enough an exact replica of the carving found on the standing stone in the city centre, with a bird in the centre instead of the usual Pictish 'X'.

The windows of the old townhouse were frosted, except two which had been blacked out and used to display posters of bands coming to play, karaoke night, student night, even a few informational pamphlets on everything from managing Uni, to advise on what to do if you suspect someone's drink has been spiked.

There was no bouncer at the door. That gave me some confidence if they felt they didn't require one during the day. But it was barely eleven. The pub was open though, one of the doors propped with a blue crate, a van parked outside with the back rolled up to show boxes of wine, packets of crisps and everything else a pub could serve. Perhaps interrupting while they were restocking wasn't the best idea, but the idea of waiting any longer for my phone was unbearable.