Brightly Grim

Damien: Part IV

My eyelids clench in resistance against the sunlight for what feels like eternity before I give up and awake. I'm in my bedroom, tangled up with Lora in a mess of blankets and limbs. The events of last night are a blur, like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube after a few shots of tequila. Lora is still fast asleep, her face peaceful and undisturbed. I can't help but plant a soft kiss on her forehead before slipping out of bed.

Quietly tiptoeing out of the room, I make my way downstairs, greeted by the maid who's practically become part of the family. She nods with a knowing smile, and I give her a half-awake "mornin'." My bleary eyes light up when I spot a pot of coffee brewing on the stove. It's a heavenly sight.

Pouring myself a cup of that liquid gold, I take a sip and let out a contented sigh that could rival a chorus of angels. The flavors dance on my tongue, doing the tango of wakefulness. Ah, the sweet nectar of life, the elixir that keeps me going on this crazy ride.

In the midst of my caffeinated bliss, I absentmindedly pat down the pockets of the jeans I wore to bed, hoping for a miraculous discovery—a forgotten pack of Parliaments. But alas, it seems luck isn't on my side. I turn to the maid with puppy dog eyes and ask if she's seen my beloved smokes. She replies with a sympathetic shrug, mentioning they tossed an empty pack in the trash. My heart sinks like a deflated balloon at a birthday party. Looks like I'll have to go on a quest for nicotine.

I rub my temples, trying to piece together the fragments of last night's adventures. Did I smoke through the entire pack, or was it Cassie, the undisputed queen of drunken cigarette bumping, who finished them off? It's like playing a game of memory after a round of tequila shots—good luck piecing it all together. But hey, life's full of mysteries, and I'm just along for the wild ride.

With a determined swagger, I decide to venture upstairs in search of a smoke. However, the idea of entering Cassie's domain sends shivers down my spine. Her morning wrath is a force to be reckoned with, like waking a grumpy bear from hibernation. So, I hesitate outside her room, weighing the risks and rewards of my cigarette mission.

But wait, what's this? The door to Cassie's room is slightly ajar, like a portal to a parallel universe where Cassie is not asleep till noon. Intrigued, I push it open, greeted by sunlight filtering through the room. The sight that greets me is both surprising and suspicious. Her bed is perfectly made, the sheets tucked in so tightly you could bounce a quarter off them. It's like witnessing a miracle in the land of untidy chaos.

I spy Cassie's nightstand, where she usually keeps a packet of Parliaments. However, my hopes are dashed when I find the drawer empty, like a vacant lot in a ghost town. This is unheard of—Cassie is the guardian of an endless supply of smokes. I furrow my brow, pondering the mysteries of the missing cigarettes.

Resigned to my fate, I accept that John's Marlboro Reds will have to satisfy my craving. I trudge up the stairs, the weight of anticipation mixed with a dash of anxiety. Standing outside John's door, I take a deep breath, summoning the courage to face the consequences. After all, I've already risked Cassie's morning wrath for a cigarette—how bad can it be?

Yet, my entrance is met not with silence but a seductive whisper that slithers through the room, teasing my senses. "I've been waiting for you..." The words hang in the air for a fleeting moment, tantalizing and provocative. But before they can fully register, they are abruptly drowned out by a piercing, high-pitched scream that reverberates through the room, piercing my skull like a thousand needles. A sudden jolt of pain shoots through my head, pounding against a hangover that I hadn't been aware of until now.