The pounding against the back of my eyes shakes me awake, as the grinding of dry gears drills into my head. I feel like I’m falling backwards and instinctively, I clutch for my pillow. After several spins around the room, I crack my eyes open to the blinding light of a new day. My brain throbs in protest. I feel certain that any movement will be painful, but my bladder demands a genuine response. As I push myself off the bed, a wave of nausea rises up to meet me, and I choke back the spasm in my throat. The thought of dying seems preferable to the concept of vomit.
As I stumble through the kitchen, I notice that my purse is spilled out on the counter, and I wonder whether I’ve been rolled again. It’s bad enough the residue these guys leave behind, but they want to steal my money too. I suppose I could call the law, but how would I describe him. My mind cramps as I try to picture his face. I have a vague recollection that he was tall, but maybe that was the guy from last Tuesday. I think his name was Ken, or maybe Jim. It was loud and I couldn’t quite make that out. In a wisp of clarity, I realize that maybe I just spent all that money, so I let go of that rope.
I hold on to the wall as I make my way back down the hallway and a surge of panic courses through me as I realize that I’m not sure what day it is. I can’t afford to lose another job. I fumble for my phone on the bedside table, noticing that it only has 15% charge, that I have six missed calls from my mom, and that it’s Sunday. “Thank God” slips from my lips, but then I chuckle at the irony (Alanis Morissette would be proud of me). My hands shake as I struggle to grip the bottle of my mental health meds. I take two, knowing that I’m in for a rough day. I swallow them down with a gulp from a glass of some lukewarm liquid from the windowsill. My throat once again clinches back a spasm.
As my head crashes back to the mattress, I once again wonder about last night. I seem to remember a guy, but maybe that was last Tuesday. As my mind reels, the smell of the sheets cast a vote, and I lose any doubt about what transpired. Indeed, the stains on these sheets testify to all the times I’ve passed out next to someone and woke up alone. I try to console myself that it’s better this way. No complications. No messy relationship drama. But the chasm between those who are willing to come home with me, and those who are willing to stay echoes in my soul. They act like they want me, but they never actually chose me. Somehow that seems even more hollow than being alone. I feel like I want to cry, but my meds are doing their blessed work, as the numbness takes hold.
For now, I just need to sleep. Maybe later, I can grab something to eat and by tonight I should be ready to go again! See page 405 for details.
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