Reconnoiter || Guns N Roses, David Bowie, Bon Jovi

Reconnoiter: Nine

The Sergeant kneeled in front of his VCR and shoved a tape inside, while I sprawled out drunkely on his sofa, watching the ceiling spin round and round.

His apartment was great, it wasn't classy like Cap's, but it was just as big. The walls were painted black and decorated with spray paint, records and posters. There were cans of something called 'Bud Light' scattered everywhere, a few discarded clothing items, and a whole lot of cigarette butts. It smelled like him, too, and the whole apartment screamed his personality.

"We... are watching a movie, but we're not watching an soft shit," he explained as he approached the couch. He sat down right beside my head so I dragged my upper body into his lap, smiling up at him when he began to play with my hair. I glanced at the screen but the picture seemed blurry to me, and made me feel nauseous. "What... what is this?" He was drinking some colorful liquid, called 'Gatorade'.

"A little movie from the '70s called... 'Alien.'" I ran my fingers over the fabric of his jeans, feeling the first of the drowsiness coming on. "Is it... is it good?" "It is, Calliope. It is."

I don't remember much else. I remember drifting off, and then waking up again when something particularly loud happened in the movie, and then drifting off again. "You... are amazing, Calliope..." I thought I heard him whisper to me before I was falling asleep for good, petting my hair slowly. I was sure it must've been the alcohol talking.

****

World War III was going on inside of my head.

There were tiny soldiers with their tiny sharp knives, stabbing at the sides of my skull, stabbing each other, slamming each other into my brain. They woke me with an excruciating pain between my temples, causing me to cringe when I opened my eyes.

Light was flooding into the room through my open window, curtains fluttering in the wind. Despite the pain I rushed to it, slamming the glass pane shut and drawing the curtains tightly. The sudden movement made my churning stomach lurch, and I was on my knees in front of the toilet before I could think.

Last night's 'fun' came pouring out of me with a burning vengeance, and it didn't taste as sweet and fruity the second time. I tried to think on it inbetween retches, but my memory was blurred and jumbled. I remembered certain things so clearly, the Sergeant's cold tongue in my mouth, his gravelly whispering in my ear, and others not so much. It took me a while to even remember that we made up.

I vomitted until there was nothing left before I weakly stood, walking over to the sink to brush my teeth. I was sure I'd never drink alcohol again as I squeezed a whole lot of mint toothpaste onto my brush, and began scrubbing my teeth and tongue wildly.

There was something black written on my hands, I left the brush in my mouth and held them in front of my face. On one hand-

Calliope- You fell asleep, I took you home.

And on the other-

(202)-749-2693

I sighed, putting more paste on the brush. I stood there for ten minutes, cringing in pain when the throbbing became too much. I swear I must've gulped down a bottle of Listerine or something, because I didn't stop until I felt clean.

I stripped off my alcohol-soaked clothing and went to the shower, stepping into the hot stream of water and sighing with relief. I turned the steam knob and hot air blasted out of vents in the floor of the shower, engulfing me in warmth. I spent a while in there, just curled up in the bottom with a bar of soap until the last of the nausea was gone.

I left the shower and dressed myself in a bluish blouse and black corduroys, knowing that Cap would be back that day. Cap, who wouldn't even let me have more than one glass of campagne. I knew I couldn't act strange in front of him, he'd poke and prod me until I told him the truth.