Discovery Avenue

Anna - Part 9

Peter had got dressed, slumped against one of the old abandoned brick buildings near the drug club and spent what felt like forever stirring over Anna's concerned texts. Please let me know where you are xxx and I'm going back to sleepxx was the last messages he received about half hour ago. The battery icon flashed red, nearly flat. He didn't know where he was, the dark street eerie though and he imagined at any minute the goons might turn up again and kill him. For real this time, he worried. Through the pain stinging in his lungs and the blood that splattered up from his throat, he managed to not vomit again. 

'I need to go home,' he said. Semen stained pants that smelled of whiskey and bruises as black as the tarmac. He began to slowly walk down the street, and could see an intersection some distance ahead. No signage at all and no indication from the abusive officers of where to go. He didn't know who they were and had no chance of having them reprimanded. But, despite wanting to sleep, Peter felt like one more drink would not go amiss. The last drink would be at home, where he should have stayed. Each footstep like walking in the shadow of guilt, coarse and seeping into his mind. Guilt and shame. Too weak to deny Amy, to weak to say no to the drinking and too embarrassed to tell the police about the prostitutes at the Scots den. 

Peter soon approached the intersection and it turned out that he was closer to the town square than he anticipated. The sign to the left said it was a mile away. But to the right, signage for his area, less than a mile away. He took the right hand path, and followed the bumpy pavement, each time he thought he heard a car it turned out to be the whooshing of overhead aircraft. If he was Spiderman he'd slingshot himself up to one and jump off at home. The occasional break in silence from some squawking hawk or screeching owl. The gusts of cold air and the ice droplets blown into his sore eyes. Then, in the distance, headlights. He wasn't going to let it go past without helping him.

Thumb out, then he leapt into the road and stood like a starfish. 'Stop,' he shouted, waving his arms. The car didn't slow, and the headlights grew brighter, and fast approached him. He darted back to the pavement and the car sped by, sounding its horn continuously. Peter lay on the pavement, and flipped the driver off. 'Fuck you,' he shouted. The car disappeared into the distance. 

After ten minutes of walking along the dim lit road Peter had reached the area he lived in. It was quiet and a few cats trailed the streets. One black cat ran up to Peter and as tempted as he was to shoo it away, he began to kneel before he fell face first into the road. But still managed to stroke the cat who purred and rubbed his ass on him. Not the first pussy that night to give the rear end. He clambered to his feet and continued. 

As Peter reached his home, which was dark, he felt in his pocket for his wallet. It was gone, and he had no idea when or where it had gone. Then he thought the worst, either the goons at the whore club took it or the police did. He wanted to sleep and such questions needed to wait. Luckily he had his keys and let himself inside. Kicked shoes off, shoved jacket onto the kitchen table, poured glass of tap water and began upstairs. 

Anna was asleep, her bum stuck out from beneath the blanket. He fell on the bed but did not touch her. Instead he coiled to a fetus position and felt tears run down his eyes. As he managed to get comfortable and edged into sleep... bang at the door and it woke Anna up instantly.