Livewire

Chapter 3

Hot sun hit Kyle in the face, beating down on him through his bedroom window. The intense heat on his skin wrenched him from his slumber. His head pounded and his mouth was dry. With a groan, he peeled his face from the pillow and wiped the dribble from his chin. He sat up on the grubby mattress which rested on the floor. Dizziness washed over him from the exertion and his head fell into his hands.

"Why do I keep doing this?"

After several deep breaths, he braced himself and stood up. His legs were shaky but he managed to stay upright, despite the protesting of his head. He stepped out into his lounge, breathing heavily while he stumbled toward the balcony door through the stuffy air. With the strength he could muster, he heaved the sliding door open, allowing a fresh breeze to roll in. Slumping over, he let his weight rest on the railing and felt the breeze. The sun shined bright in his eyes, blinding him. Raising his hand to block the light, he noticed the sun was already over his balcony. It was already afternoon.

His apartment was several floors up in a highrise block and, despite the noise of the city below, the vantage point was peaceful to him. Judging by the hangover, he was surprised he'd managed to make it up all the flights of stairs in the state he was in last night. He'd got himself in bed, fully dressed still from the night before. No doubt falling in through his door and collapsing straight into bed. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the squashed cigarette carton and extracted one. His fingers were weak and struggled to grip. He took a heavy drag, the smoke covering the lingering taste of the night before. There was nothing appealing about smoking to him, but he'd done it since he was a kid and he didn't know any other way.

Once his cigarette was burned down, he flicked it off the balcony and retreated into the flat. It was already stuffy inside and he needed to get out. Instead he walked to the kitchen sink and ran himself a glass of water. It always came out warm, which he despised, but he needed to rehydrate or his head would not stop playing drums. Heading to the kitchen he opened a cupboard to find some pain killers. A three-quarters empty bottle of whiskey greeted him. The one he drained by himself a few nights ago. Pushing the bottle aside, he fumbled around the cupboard for some paracetamol.

Once he found the tablets, he grabbed a glass and ran the cold tap. The water always came out warm, but running it a little gave the illusion that it was cooler. Reality was different, the water was still warm. Popping two capsules out of the blister pack, he threw them down his throat, washing them down with a swig of the lukewarm water. He forced himself to finish the whole glass then stood, propping himself up on the counter with one arm while he fought down the nausea. The moment passed and he regained some composure. He returned to the bedroom, clutching his forehead.

In the corner of the room was a vent with a discoloured plastic cover. He popped it out of the wall and reached his arm deep inside, fumbling around. His fingers found the cloth bag and he grabbed it to pull it out. The last ten years had not been kind to the fabric. It was looking more threadbare than the day Uncle Joe had handed it to him. He pulled it out onto his bed to count the money. There had been two hundred thousand pounds once, which he was exchanging for pesos over the past few years. He still had forty grand in pounds and just over two hundred thousand pesos remaining. With cheap rent and few expenses, he expected the cash would last him a while yet. He never bothered to get a job because other than thieving, he had no real skills. Whilst the money lasted,he didn't need to worry about it either.

Grabbing a few hundred pesos from his cache, he zipped the bag back up and replaced it in the vent, pushing the plastic cover back on as if nothing had changed. The paracetamol needed to kick in faster. His head was still pounding. Knowing that a shower would help, he walked to the bathroom and swivelled the squeaky tap on. The pipes complained with a groan. A pitiful trickle formed and fell from the shower head and Kyle sighed. He should expect nothing less. The shower would always be this way. The only way to get a decent shower was at the gym.