Drunk

Four.

                                                               Four.

   Shy had woken up with a massive hangover. The headache made her feel like her brain was pulsating inside her skull, the joints in her arms and legs felt sore, and her throat burned like she had been deprived of water for days. 

   But yet, somehow she manged to take a shower. The warm water cascaded down her back and she sighed in relief as the fog inside her head cleared. Then the hot water in the pipes diminished and she was left taking a cold shower. Shy quickly dried her shaking body and pulled on an old The Doors t-shirt and worn jeans. 

   Shy’s blue-hazel eyes glanced to the loud running refrigerator and she decided against eating breakfast, fearing she would be seeing it again soon after she ate. Shy turned to read the hands on the ticking clock she had bought at a cheap store. It took her a few seconds to understand what the clock told her.

   She had to leave soon if she wanted to get to the bakery on time. 

  Shy scrambled around her studio apartment. She brushed her still dripping hair whilst she swallowed three pain-killers. The apartment’s key was placed into her pocket, and at the last second Shy decided to bring her favorite book along with her. 

   Once Shy took a step out of her apartment building, she remembered how much she wasn’t use to the cold weather. She didn’t have time to return to retrieve her jacket. So she locked her jaw and crossed her arms over her chest, book in hand. 

   Her baggy shirt fluttered in the slight breeze. The jeans she wore had a slight hole on the knee, and the cold seeped through the material. Her scuffed combat boots echoed of the concrete sidewalk, the laces sloppily down, showing how hectic her morning was. She shivered, regretting not drying her hair before she left. At this rate she was going to catch a cold. 

   As Shy made her way to the bakery, she watched the people rushing to work. She started imagine a life for every person that walked past her. 

   A man in an expensive looking suit rushed past her. He talked on a cellphone, yelling to the person on the other side of the line.

   Business man, Shy thought. He works for a multi-million dollar company selling children toys. The last toy he suggested was a bust and now he had to figure out a new, more fun design kids will enjoy. He was yelling at his assistant on the phone, demanding the new teddy bears be shipped out next week. 

   Shy slightly moved out of the man’s tracks. She knew if he accidentally bumped her she would be the one apologizing and he would give her a dirty look. 

   Shy’s eyes danced over the numerous people walking, busting about. A woman, late twenties, walked out of a coffee shop. Her bug-eyed sunglasses protected her from a sun that wasn’t even shining. She held a steaming coffee cup in her hand, a hunk of diamond dangled around her slim finger. She wore a tight dress, a designer bag hug from the crease of her elbow. Her heels clacked on the ground, every step caused her highlighted hair to bounce around her shoulders.

   A gold digger, Shy conjured in her mind, she mooches off her husband. In fact, the business man was her husband. She was twenty years younger than him. She slept with other men, her marriage was based on lies and money-abuse. She didn’t love the business man, but she couldn’t imagine working a day in her life. 

   Shy tore her eyes away from the strutting woman, turning to look at the sidewalk in front of her. She crossed her arms tighter around her. 

   A sound of clicking change drifted towards her. Looking slightly to the right, a homeless man sat on a dirty, worn blanket. He had a white Styrofoam cup in his hand. He rose it upwards when someone walked past him. The person didn’t spare the homeless man a glance.