Expectations Of Nature

12 - Hunting

Most individuals are well acquainted with the repercussions of alcohol, particularly when indulged in copious amounts. Your stomach swiftly transitions from ally to adversary the following day. Regrettably, I found myself facing one such morning. There I was, sprawled on the floor amidst a jumble of pillows, surrounded by empty bottles. A sudden surge of nausea gripped me as a bitter bile crept up the back of my throat.

A vice-like headache gripped my skull, as if my scalp were on the verge of capitulation under its relentless pressure. The distant sounds emanating from the bathroom fell upon my ears, yet failed to command my attention in that moment of misery. My legs seemed utterly unwilling to ferry me to the kitchen, where my eyes fell upon a container of painkillers. Hopeful for relief, I fetched myself a glass of water to aid their ingestion.

The clamor from the bathroom grew louder, prompting me to traverse the narrow corridor that led to the small room. What greeted my eyes was far from picturesque - Jasmine, doubled over the toilet, expelling the remnants of her previous day's meals. Bella, a loyal companion, knelt beside her, holding Jasmine's hair with a tenderness that belied their situation.

"Do you need anything?" I inquired, my gaze shifting from Bella's weary countenance to Jasmine, who managed to glance up from her uncomfortable position.

"Pills, if you'd be so kind," Bella implored without turning, her tired eyes meeting mine in a silent exchange. Jasmine's pale face briefly acknowledged my presence before retreating back to her porcelain throne. It appeared that the disparity between the ladies and myself lay in how alcohol's aftermath treated us.

Retracing my steps to the kitchen, I gathered the essential supplies before returning to their side. Two glasses of water, accompanied by the vial of painkillers, were swiftly passed into their grateful hands. There was no room for reproach; after all, each of us sought refuge from our own inner turmoil within the confines of those bottles.

Alas, my capacity for distraction remained limited. The prior day's news, deliberately overlooked in the throes of intoxication, now resurfaced with renewed vigour. As I gazed into the bathroom mirror, my own reflection appeared foreign - smudged makeup and dishevelled hair painted a picture of disarray that left me feeling curiously sullied.

I stumbled across the bathroom to reach the sink. I turned the water on and started to wash off the make-up. Finishing with that, I brushed my hair with my fingers and took off the earnings. I looked in the mirror, finally able to identify myself.

Jasmine leaned on the toilet, awaiting the next wave of nausea. Bella, who had fared better through the night, sat on a small cabinet. Her hair was delightfully disheveled, and her makeup was less smudged than mine.

"I guess some of us here have a much stronger reaction to a hangover," Bella remarked with her usual sarcasm.

"Shut up, Bella. You know I rarely drink," Jasmine responded with a raspy voice, keeping her eyes closed.

"But you have to admit that the booze was good. It made all the suffering go away, at least for a moment," Bella chuckled, taking a sip of water.

I couldn't help but agree. It had been a brief escape from reality, a moment when nothing else mattered. We had lived in the present, utterly forgetting about the troubles awaiting us the next day.

"I think I'll go for a walk around the house. I need to clear my mind a bit," I announced and made my way out of the crowded room. As I walked into the narrow corridor, I took a deep breath.

Jasmine's cottage, which she shared with her mother, was smaller even compared to my father's. The walls were made of wood, one of the few materials the pack could afford.