Driving For Blood

(section 2.2)

            I roll over in bed hitting my hand on something hard where Derik should have been laying.  The briefcase, I realize as grogginess fades from my mind.  A scrap of paper sits on top of the pillow next to my head.  I pick it up giving my eyes time to adjust to the minuscule amount of light filtering through the curtains and under the door.

Friday.

            I am tired; I don’t want to think about what is going to happen on Friday.  Right now I just want to slip into blissful unconsciousness.  Thinking that may take some alcoholic aid I peel back my covers.  My toes curl against the cold floor.  I slide on gym shorts that I found on my floor and a t-shirt that was crumpled up next to it.

             I shuffle out of my room toward the kitchen.  I can’t help but notice two people intertwined on the couch.  One was Hudson the other person I didn’t recognize.  Moron couldn’t even make it to his bedroom.

            I carefully search through the cupboards for some liquid courage.  I need some courage to drown away the thought of my selling my soul.  I find a cheap bottle of whisky, the couple swigs I take burn my throat but clear my mind.  I shuffle back to my room.  My pillow calls my name.

            I don’t know how long I was out but I wake up to the strangest sense of déjà vu.  Eliza is shrieking my name and bursting in my bedroom door.

            “Damn, Eliza!” my voice borders on enraged, “Do you not know how to knock?”  I cover my face with a pillow to subdue the light streaming in the open door.

            “Why were you with Derik last night?”  Her voice is like a chainsaw hitting metal.  My head throbs.  I am concerned by what was really in that whisky bottle.

            I throw the pillow across the room it hits the wall.  Luckily my lack of interior designing skills prevents it from breaking anything.  “It doesn’t matter,” I say, “I got you what you need.” I slide the briefcase across the worn floor.  Dramatically it stops right at the base of her pink Converse.  “Now leave me alone.”  She leaves without another word like a good girl ought to.