Fleeing the Baba Yaga

The News Report

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Chapter Four

The News Report

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Zayn woke with an utterly miserable groan. He did not want to open his eyes. His head ached horrendously. His tongue moved sluggishly inside his mouth. Gross. It felt like he'd licked the contents of an ashtray. Now that he was awake, he was aware of his knee throbbing with pain. He had passed out on the couch, the bottle of whiskey on the floor beside him. It was almost empty.

Fuck.

He made the mistake of trying to sit up. The world swirled and his stomach protested violently. He made it to the bathroom before collapsing and emptying his stomach contents into the toilet. He stayed clutching the porcelain for a long time, his stomach jolted and contracting. There had not been much by the way of food in his belly, and it had been so long since he'd drunk so much alcohol. This had to have been one of the stupidest decisions he'd ever made.

And for what?

Seeing some random person in the building's foyer? He didn't even know that man! Or did he? As Zayn rubbed weakly at his itchy eyes with a sweaty hand, he could still see the man's light brown hair and delicate handsome features. It didn't make any sense. The guy had looked just as confused and shocked as Zayn did. It was almost as though the man hadn't expected to find him there.

Drinking had been a mistake, one that he was now dearly paying for. He still couldn't process it in his mind exactly why he'd melted down like that. The dreams weren't that bad anymore. He'd slept decently the night before. It couldn't have been the storm. Storms had never been one of his triggers before.

How had he gone from calm to complete freak out in less than five minutes?

Zayn's stomach trembled. It sent him hunching back over the toilet bowl, retching violently. There was nothing left in his belly by this point except for the sour stinging bile. Zayn was forced to sit by the toilet for a long time. Timidly, he sipped at a little water. He lost that again when he stood up too fast the first time. Now he clutched at his phone in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, with a towel protecting his ass from the icy tiled floor.

Good thing he had finished Terry's job early because Zayn did not feel up to sitting at the computer and squinting at a screen for the next five hours. It was still raining but it came down in gentle patters now instead of the all-encompassing darkness of the day before. The light was still dim and grey with the rain. He listened to it, eyes closed and sipping on his water.

He counted his breaths, breathed through his nose, and sipped his water. He was calm. Everything was fine. Zayn sighed, tipping his head back until it rested against the cool wall. He would need to journal about this, about that man. Just... maybe a bit later.

When his legs were no longer wobbly and his stomach could handle his movement, Zayn stood and hobbled to the kitchen. Now that his stomach was empty, he was at least feeling a bit better. He drank a bit more water and chewed slowly on some old rice crackers he had in the cupboard.

He started toward the couch when he noticed something odd. It was his journal. He'd left it on his desk but instead, it was now on the coffee table. Had he written in it last night? He didn't remember. Curious, he grabbed the journal and flipped it open to the last page that had been written in.

He stared at it, his eyes wide, his heart thudding in his chest. It was his handwriting, slightly wobblier than usual. He must have written it when he was drunk. He didn't remember writing it though. He didn't remember much of anything last night after the first few shots. The words stared back at him warningly and somehow menacing.