It's Hard To Be Holy

EP. 56: Chapter VII (Cont'd)

Coarse and Offensive Language. Reader Discretion Advised.

And then it came! Without warning, without preamble, The Day of Reckoning arrived on a hot, humid August night. 

It was late. Too late to be awake, but that's how Alfonso Ignatius (the Second) found himself, tossing and turning, windows open for that nonexistent breeze. It was more likely for the Archangel Gabriel to fly through that window with news of a baby than any air.

What's the point of living next to an ocean if you can't get a fucking breeze?!

He lit a cigarette, but it did no good. Smoke and wet, suffocating heat never mix, but then again, addictions never have cared about comfort.

Colin's snores vibrated off the sturdy walls.

How is it, grumbled Alan, those walls could survive a bomb blast, but they rattle with snores? 

Drunk fucker...

He turned on his side, searching for a comfortable position on the damp sheets. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. Even if he could sleep for an hour or so...he wasn't asking much. Just a little—

'Come here,' whispered a young woman's voice under the window. 'No. Outta the light. Come here!' A patter of footsteps sounded, and a giggle was met with a teasing moan. 'Shhh!' hissed the same voice. 'Jesus, you gonna wake up the whole buildin'!'

It was a familiar voice, but Alan was too annoyed by the speaking in general to give any thought for the speaker.

Goddamn bitch! Get it somewhere else, not under my fucking window!

He rolled back over to check his alarm clock. Two in the morning—Two in the fucking morning?! 

What decent fucking person was out at two in the fucking morning?!

Whores and sluts!

Another giggle echoed, and then came the unmistakable sound of lips smacking—

'For fuck's sake!' he snarled to the darkness, pounding his fists on the mattress, and when that did nothing to ease his unhappiness, Alan jumped out of bed and ran to the window, shouting out to the alley below: 'SHUT UP, BITCH!'

There was a brief pause, followed by a derisive snort, but no one came forward into the street light. Alan squinted through the screen, and he thought he could see two outlines pressed up against the shaded wall below. Two figures holding each other close.

'Shhh,' said the smaller shadow, the original speaker. 'Stop laughin'!'

'Fuckin' whores!' grunted Alan, peeling himself away from the window and storming into the kitchen.

It was better in the kitchen, even if it was hotter and louder with Colin's snores, but at least there was no fucking giggling. No free love, sucking-face horseshit! He wrenched open the freezer of the refrigerator and stuck his head deep inside, hoping for some solace.

Free love, he thought, is the worst thing that has ever happened to the world. Free love! What a stupid concept. There's nothing free about love. You always pay for it, in some shape or form. It would be better if you could only pay for it. Less mistakes then. Less guilt—Goddamn it!

It was so hot the ice on the walls was dripping.

Fucking can't catch a break!

He stuck his head in deeper and reached behind to pull the door as close to closed as was possible.