Anjels

1

I was angry. That's the easiest way to explain what I was feeling as I threw empty beer bottles at my kitchen wall. Angry at the beer for tasting like piss, angry at the bottle for holding piss-beer, angry at the wall for being there, angry at myself. Most of all, I was angry at her.

She was, you know, a girl. The type that would just roll into town one day and kinda insert herself into your life. Dunno why she bothered. I guess I had a thing for her, but that wasn't the point.

The point was that she made me feel good, put all these nice thoughts in my head, changed me for the better. Told me she had faith in me, made me like myself. Point was, I was three months sober because of her.

Well, looks like that's over, I thought, looking at the now-empty bottle in my hand that was about to join its friends.

'Sprobably why, two weeks ago, she finally gave up on me. Told me the words I had always knew would come. That I was weak. Too addicted. That she was afraid of me.  And it broke me. Brought back every horrible thought I ever had, and amplified it by ten. Made me feel.... sad.

But I can't feel sad. Sadness is fucking useless. So I took all of those thoughts, realized what a dumbass I was being, and focused on becoming the angry, asshole drunk I used to be. You know, the guy I was before she came along.

And now here I am, I thought, smiling bitterly, waiting for her to magically throw open that door and stop me like she always did when I was drunk, 'cept this time I'll be the one yelling at her. Maybe then--

CRACK!

THUD.

"Dammit!"

I jumped and dropped the bottle I had in my hand, sending alcohol and glass shards everywhere. The dregs soaked into my socks. Sharp pieces of the bottle cut through my skin, leaving minuscule gashes all along my ankles. Within seconds, my kitchen floor had become a minefield, and right then I hoped whatever caused that noise was getting what it deserved for spilling my beer.

But then I heard the moaning.

It was loud and desperate, like a wounded animal. Whiny, too. My thoughts first turned toward my erotic--and loud--neighbors, and I was ready to complain about the noise to the police (again), but then, as I reached for the phone, I looked out the kitchen window and saw one of the trees in my front lawn was missing a branch.

Ok, either my neighbors have moved on to an entirely different kink or some asshole just broke my tree. Either way, I felt the need to check it out. I grabbed a beer bottle with the bottom broken off to use as a weapon (because sometimes my neighbors can get a little too handsy for my liking) and headed out to the front lawn, where I found some harmless young redhead half passed-out on my tree branch, her ankle twisted painfully in the wrong direction.

I cleared my throat to try to get a reaction out of her. When that didn't work, I prodded her slightly with my foot. When she still didn't move I said, "Hey. You alright down there?" Not my finest line, but whatever. I was drunk.

At the sound of my voice, she raised her head and squinted in my direction. Her gaze traveled from my disheveled hair and clothing to the broken bottle in my hand, and she smiled dazedly.

"Classy," she slurred, her head dipping slightly before she promptly passed out.

*******

A couple of beers and a change of clothes later and I was looking at my new charge with the same kind of curiosity given to science experiments and zoo animals, 'cause that's what she was to me: an exotic new creature that required caution when approaching.