Cuffed. [Norman Reedus]

24*F**k Butter.

Chapter Twenty-Four ::: F**k Butter.

{*UNEDITED*}

The rest of that night was a blur. A mess of anxious thoughts and sweaty palms. I don't even remember what animals we saw next, or what the hell we talked about after she threw that curveball at my face. 

I know that I didn't get mad at her. But I wasn't happy about it either. I'm sure someone in my situation would've told her "Hey! I've killed someone, too! Sweet!" but that seemed a little too crooked. We ended up just sneaking out the front gates, leaving my jacket behind, and I drove her home at about midnight. Now, it was the next morning, and I was still laying in bed at noon.

The blankets on top of me made me sweat, but if I kicked them off, I would start to shiver. My thoughts were a mess, and the night before I had needed three sleeping pills to finally knock myself out. Part of me wanted to believe that the date last night was a dream—or at least the conversation we had about our past was my imagination—but I had a hard time convincing myself.

By the time I actually bring myself to roll out of bed, Buck had nearly scratched through the front door. I don't bother getting upset; it's my fault I hadn't let him outside yet. I lazily open my door and let him run down the hall and down the stairs. Too tired to run after him, I call the downstairs lobby and tell the man to just let Buck out the doors.

"If he doesn't come back in five minutes, give me a call." I mumble into the phone.

The man, slightly dazed and confused, hesitantly agrees to my request before hanging up.

After taking a deep breath to gather my tired thoughts and shove them in a trash bin, I set out to my kitchen to make myself some breakfast. With the few, old ingredients in my fridge and hollow cabinets, I lay out everything I can to see what my options are.

Some old bread, eggs, and some bacon I dug out from the bottom of the freezer.

Good enough. I think, yanking an old pan out from under my sink. I place it on the stove and as I'm waiting for it to heat up, I stare out the window and observe the apartment parking lot down below me. Buck is taking a shit in the grass and is getting weird looks from passing strangers. He's not hurting anyone. In fact, he's actually doing the world a favor by fertilizing the dead grass. I think, laughing at my stupidity. 

When the pan finally decides to heat up, I crack the egg on the side and plop it into the center. Immediately it starts to burn.

"Fuck butter." I curse out loud, remembering that I forgot to put butter in the pan. Quickly, as the smell of burning egg starts to fill my apartment, I scramble (ha ha, pun not intended) around for a spatula to get this thing off the heat. Being the stupid human being that I tend to be, it doesn't even cross my mind that I can easily just remove the pan from the burner. Instead, I end up knocking over nearly every dish and plate in my kitchen trying to find this damn spatula. 

As soon as I find it and as I'm attacking the burning egg with it, the phone on my wall starts to ring. It seems to get louder and increasingly obnoxious the messier the egg gets, so out of anger, I shout out to the phone as if it can hear me.

"Shut the hell up!" my fingers are getting burnt, the phone is loud as hell, and Buck is nowhere to be seen out the window. 

Finally, I lift up the pan, pushing aside how ignorant I had bee the whole time, and toss it into the sink. I then march over the phone and answer it. 

"What?" I yell.

"Sorry to bother you, um, you told me to call when your dog came back inside?" the man downstairs explains.

"Oh." I stare down at my free hand, covered in burnt egg. "Just, send him up the stairs." I hang up without waiting for a response and then go to the sink to wash my hands. As I continue to make my breakfast (remembering the butter in the pan this time) I push my little burst of anger behind me and move on with my day as if nothing had happened. I let Buck inside when he scratches on the door and before I sit down to eat, I pour a cup full of food in his bowl. 

"Sorry dude, I just didn't feel like taking you out this morning." I explain to Buck, taking a bite of my breakfast. The eggs still taste burnt despite making a second batch, which presses my nerves. Who knew why I was feeling extra rowdy today, but every little thing somehow pissed me off. These damn eggs. I think, angrily eating them.

When I'm only halfway done, the irritating and surprising sound of knocking fills the air. Buck stops eating for a moment to look up at the door, and I do the same. I glance at the clock. Who the hell could be knocking on my door at one O'clock on a Monday. I guess it could quite possibly be Jeremy wanting to have a tea party or some stupid thing like that, but even my crazy lunatic neighbor had a job to go to. As I cross the living room, Boone strikes my mind. Maybe he's here during his lunch break, bugging me about not coming to work.

I press my eye up against the peephole to see who it is but to my astonishment, it's black. Whoever it is, they're attempting to play a trick on me by covering the view with their finger.

"What do ya' say, Buck. Should I let Boone in?" I smirk, twisting the doorknob to greet my friend.

But it's not Boone. And the person wasn't covering the hole with their finger.

To my heart's dismay, and my adrenaline's pleasure, it is my mother. And without hesitation, she presses the black pistol—used to cover the peephole—straight into my forehead.