Strength and Sensuality [Completed]

16 - Luxury of hangovers

I still feel beaten up. A good night's sleep wasn't able to make my mood any better. I still feel like carrying unbearable weights around my neck.

I just sit at my desk and try to go through the day somehow.

When Mr. Warren arrives, I can hardly bring myself to look at him and greet him. Even the fact he's looking even worse than I can't make me feel any more cheerful. He looks like he hadn't slept a minute. Like he was out partying all night, or something. I don't have the slightest idea how the rich and cool live around here, but for as much as I care, he could snort coke off of a hooker's ass all night long. He certainly looks like he was.

He doesn't grace us for long with the sight of his bloodshot eyes, though. After a few minutes spent talking to Bill and making a few phone calls, he leaves in a hurry. I can sympathize with him this once. I hated to spend my day at work with a hangover, when I still had the luxury of having hangovers.

I spend the whole day alone. Ollie's out, having a meeting somewhere else. And I'm probably emitting a dark, gloomy cloud out of my pores, discouraging everyone from coming closer. So I can pity myself undisturbed. And work like crazy. All day, without even a lunch break.

I go through an enormous pile of folders. Everything I can get my hands on. Even the files lying around without being assigned, concentrating all my attention to the work I'm doing. It's my way to suppress my depressive thoughts. An old survival trick of mine.

I never finished this many cases in a day before. Here, I mean. When I take them to Bill, he doesn't even understand what's going on.

"Do you have questions?" he asks, sounding a bit surprised.

"No. I finished them." I shrug.

"Oh, sweetie," he sighs. "Are you feeling all right?"

I don't answer him. I feel like crying again.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asks.

I shake my head. I don't believe anyone could understand why I feel the way I feel. Even if he was someone else, not working here, not being my boss, I couldn't explain it to him.

"Wanna go home?" He sounds worried. And almost as sad as I am.

"Can I?" I ask him, feeling uncertain.

"You finished a week's work in six hours," he answers, with a strange desperation on his face. "You can do whatever the fuck you want. Anything that makes you feel better."

I leave, but I don't go home. And I don't fetch Ben from school earlier either. I just wander the streets. I try to remember the last time I did this. Just taking a walk without any purpose. Or doing anything else at all without a purpose.

I can't remember.

Just being free for an hour makes my mood lighter. When I pass by a hardware shop, I let my feet take me inside. Directly to the notebook section.

The shop assistant helps me to find what I'm looking for in no time.

It's still too expensive for me at the moment. But it's able to handle the frequent blackouts in my neighborhood.

"It's going to be my birthday present," I inform the salesman, and he tries to take a guess at my age. In his opinion, I'm ten years younger than I am. I congratulate him on being great at selling things and having a great sense of humor. By the time I leave the shop, I feel much better than before.

When I arrive at the school, I'm already smiling. I hug my son and we walk home. The sun is shining. The birds are singing. The constant buzz of the city has a calming effect on me.