Chapter 8 #3
“Oh, little bird.” She wipes at my tears with her whole palms. “Let’s get you home.”
I nod. She pulls me to my feet. Holding my hand, she leads me out of the club, my head still swinging around in search of Meggie, as we follow the glowing red beacon of hope (the exit sign).
Each step sends a jolt of agony through the giant blisters formerly known as my feet.
I stumble out the front door, causing the woman to lose my hand.
The bouncer catches me before I fall to the ground.
“Good time to leave,” he grunts as it takes both him and the woman to steady me.
The cold air breathes life into me as I lean against the wall of the building with the woman beside me, holding my hand again.
I pick one foot up to give it a break, bringing a rush of relief, before switching to the other one.
I pull out my phone, squinting. It’s so blurry.
Why is it so blurry? I enter what I hope is my address into an app and wait for a car.
It isn’t long before a black SUV pulls up.
The woman gives me a tight hug like we’re the best of friends before I climb in the car without asking who he’s picking up (brainless drunk Lacy).
I close my eyes for the drive, breathing slow, deep breaths in an attempt to keep myself from vomiting in the backseat. Bile rises in my throat, testing my limits.
Much to my relief, the car stops in front of my apartment building.
I stumble out, hurtling toward the shrubbery to vomit as soon as I close the door.
On unstable legs, I manage to stand and work my way to the steps up to my door, muttering, “Ow. Ow. Ow,” with each stride.
Once I reach the steps, I don’t know what to do.
Climbing them seems an impossible feat. I decide to crawl.
I get on my hands and knees and drag myself up the painted wood to my apartment door.
When I arrive, a thought occurs to me—I don’t have my keys.
I stretch for the knob. Doesn’t matter. Kit didn’t bother to lock my door.
I open the door from where I’m sat on the ground and drag myself inside.
I manage to close the door, but do not manage to leave the entryway.
I curl up on the tiled rectangle in my entryway before it transitions to my living room carpet.
I yank off the evil heels and chuck them as far away from myself as I can manage.
This is not fun. I do not like this. My head is buzzing, my throat is raw, and my stomach aches with the threat of more vomit. I lie in the silence of my apartment for a while before I realize that the silence is not as silent as it should be. There is snoring in my head.
Kit is still here—he’s just passed out.
I lie there for a while longer before I push myself up and to my throbbing feet.
Oww. My feet are happy to not be in heels but unhappy to still be in use.
I lock the bolt and put the chain on my door.
I limp over to my windows and pull closed the curtains.
I switch on my nightlight in the kitchen.
I should research how to exorcise a demon. I should totally do that.
Nope, hold that thought. I retch into my kitchen sink. Once I’m done, I turn on the faucet to rinse out the sink and rest my face on the cool granite of the countertop.
When I can, I turn off the faucet and stumble my way into the bathroom.
I really, really want to shower, the memory of that men’s bathroom still seared into my brain.
I crank on the shower and examine my hair in the mirror.
It is a wild, sweaty mess, but there doesn’t appear to be any vomit in it.
Good. This can be fixed with a little dry shampoo tomorrow.
I don’t need to wash it tonight. Thank god.
I just washed it yesterday, so I have no desire to go through my whole hair routine.
Also, I doubt I would even be able to successfully complete it in the state I’m in.
Once the water is warm, I strip and step carefully into the shower. I let the water run over me for a while, eventually reminding myself that I need to bathe.
When I’m done, I fish for a towel, dry myself, then wrap it around my body and exit.
I already feel better. I’m alert enough to force myself to gulp down half of a large glass of water.
I wander back to my room and set the now half-full glass on my nightstand.
I drop the towel and feel completely unmotivated to get dressed.
But I do. I pull on a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt and crawl into bed.
I need to research how to exorcise a demon. I pull out my phone with the intent to google, but I’m distracted by a text from Meggie.
My vision is still blurry, so I can’t read what it says, but I send a response anyway.
Sorry, Megs
I scroll a bit, seeing August’s name. I text her next.
Help, please. Demon possess me
Who else should I text? I scroll back up. Matthias is near the top, fourth down now, under my mother. No to texting her. To Matthias, I say:
Hiiii. I’ve been possessed so will not be at work. Don’t miss me
Now, I need to google how to exorcise a demon.
My phone buzzes. And buzzes. And buzzes. Ah, oh my god, so many texts. All from Meggie. How do I get them to stop? I need to turn off her notifications. There. Wait. Shit. I deleted my text thread with Matthias. Okay, wait. There we go. Muted Meggie’s texts. Now I must google.
I drift off.