Love Within a Storm

Chapter 2

I remembered three things from last night as the whiskey threatened to claw its way back up my throat the morning after.

I punched someone in the face.

I got two thousand dollars from shooting the Crip in the leg and finding the location of the deal.

Mark and I fucked in the bathroom.

Great.

The smell of pot and the yelling of voices out in the distance woke me up. I groaned, flipping over onto my side, my body fighting with my mind to stay on the mattress. I couldn't move, I didn't want to move. I was pretty sure I was still drunk and spinning.

But I was craving a joint and then a cigarette.

It felt like a weight was holding my body down as the sour vomit was slowly creeping its way up to my throat. The alcohol was still in my system and it made me feel nauseous, my stomach churning. Last night was hell, even though I blacked out I knew it was a shit show.

I needed to puke my guts up but I was too tired and too damn lazy to move.

Finally, I decided to actually open my eyes, and the first thing I saw was my bedroom window open and the screen broken on the ground. There were pieces of glass strewn around, and there was my shoe stuck between the window and the screen. Hell, I thought to myself. I glanced around my room, my eyes adjusted to the bright morning sunlight.

My arms had small, angry cuts on them. I assumed it was from breaking my window open in a probably drunken rage.

I stretched; my body sore and aching every time I so much as breathed or shifted on my already uncomfortable, squeaky mattress. Eventually I stumbled out of bed, my feet touched the cold floor and I winced at how unpleasant it was. Shivers ran down my spine as my body adjusted to the chill.

I knocked beer cans off my bed and tried to avoid stepping in the ashtray on the floor. As soon as I started walking across my room, I felt something wet between my feet. Glancing down, I swore under my breath. There was a bottle of vodka, with the contents spilled out, making a smelly puddle. Nothing smelt worse than old alcohol after a night of drinking. It was even worse coming back up.

My head hurt like hell from all the alcohol. Everything was foggy and my head was pounding like the bass in a car, so I swayed to the bathroom and kicked open the door. As soon as I started walking, my stomach gurgled and I gagged down the liquid making its way up my throat.

It burned and made me flinch with the sour taste.

Swinging open the medicine cabinet, I searched for the bottle. Valium, valium, my lovely valium, where are you?

My hands shook as I knocked the tiny pill bottles over, clumsily. Yup, definitely still drunk. They crashed into the sink some of the caps popping open, the contents spilling out. I wasn't picking those up. Finally, I spotted the right label and popped the cap, shaking the contents onto my hand. The bottle was empty. Damn it.

Oh well, there was still a bottle full of Xanax. Putting a few in my palm, I tilted my head back and swallowed without water, something I had mastered over the years. They fell down my throat, scraping against my flesh and making me wince as I felt it hit my throat hard on the way down.

The pills swam in my empty stomach, slowing my mind. A cloud of dizziness started to fog my brain up. I could feel the acid in my stomach start to eat away at them, making me somewhat nauseous. Even though they took a while to work, combined with the other drugs and alcohol in my system; the effects were felt almost immediately.