Honestly?
I havenoclue how I got here.
None. Zilch.
I remember handing over my keys to Deanna at the Falls Inn, and—
A dream slams into me, of Desi driving me home and tucking me in.
I close my eye and softly groan. I hope whoever brought me home forgives me for being so danged drunk that I probably made an ass out of myself. Fortunately, I seem to be wearing boxers. Reaching under the covers confirms that. Not sure if I undressed myself or had help in that department.
Although, come to think of it, as I realize I’m smelling coffee, I must not have been too bad off to prep the coffeemaker after I came home. I can’t even remember doing that. I know I didn’t do it yesterday.
As I lie there thinking about all of this, that’s when the nausea spikes through my system. I barely manage to untangle myself from the sheets and throw myself out of bed, where I race for the master bathroom and make it just in time to puke my stomach’s contents into the toilet.
Oh, lord.
I’ll need to call in sick this morning. I already know it. My head’s splitting, although it feels like I slept well enough for the first time in goodness knows how long. Puking like this means I’m going to feel like crud most of the day.
Being around other people in this condition is definitely out of the question. Physically, and emotionally.
Especially since I dreamed about Desi all night. That I was tightly snuggled against him.
Understandable, right? Considering why I was getting drunk in the first place.
I dang sure don’t need a bunch of concerned people dogging me all day long about why I look like I feel like crud. Doubly so if whatever story there is to be told about my performance last night has made its way around the town’s gossip circuit already.
And of course it will have.
I don’t even remember what songs I sang, although I do remember something by… Chicago?
A second round of puking hits me as I wonder about my phone. Did Desi try calling me back last night? It seems like I remember maybe looking at my phone after one of my turns at the mic, then someone was singing, and—
Round three of puking shuts off my brain for a few minutes. I’m in the dry heaving stage now, meaning my stomach should stabilize soon.
I hope. Once I’m able to get to and stay on my feet, I’ll clean myself up and drink a couple of glasses of water. Chasing that with some ginger ale will help settle things down.
This is why I don’t drink a lot.
I wince as my head throbs again. I’ll need to take something for the headache, and then maybe a piece of toast to help keep it all down.
Yeah, working at the store won’t be possible today. I just hope I don’t have apologies to make to anyone down at the Falls Inn. I’ll wait a few hours before calling a rideshare to take me to get my truck. I mean, I’m assuming I got my keys back before whoever brought me home. If not, I have a spare pair somewhere. If I can’t find mine I’ll have to wait to go until they’ve opened so I can get them.
Then I think I hear something downstairs. I blame it on how hungover I am that it takes me a moment to register the fact that it’s not a normal noise, like Jester maowing through the front window at people walking past the sidewalk out front. He likes to maow at the kids going to school every morning.
This isn’t that.
It… sounds like a voice.
A human voice.
And not from the TV, either.
Using the toilet for leverage, I manage to drag myself to my feet. I flush the toilet and rinse my mouth in the sink, then I creep through the bedroom, over to the doorway, and listen.
Normally, Jester’s up here with me every morning. It worries me, because it sure as heck sounds like there’s someone moving around downstairs and talking. Usually when I wake up, Jester’s in bed with me. Sometimes, he’s the one who actually wakes me up, if I’ve slept later than he deems acceptable.
I don’t have any weapons in the house. I don’t hunt, so I don’t own a gun and I’ve never needed anything for home protection here in Maudlin Falls. I mean, there’s an axe in my garage, but I’d have to go through the kitchen to reach it. I could grab a knife out of the butcher’s block just as easily.
