5 #2
My eyes flew open from that memory. All I could remember when I woke up the next morning after that crazy trip that I had was the sex I had with the woman I dropped off.
Don't even know her name. When you've had as much pussy as I've had, names become insignificant.
You might remember sessions or faces but they all start to blur and look the same, to be honest.
I looked in the fridge and all that was in there was liquor and spirits, one bottle of water, and a half a cup of orange juice.
For some reason, I was feeling for orange juice.
I was so thirsty. When I went to take a piss, it was so yellow to the point where it was orange.
That was amusing to me for some reason. I knew I was off my high or coming off of it because usually when I'm on my high my piss is all sorts of colors or they come out like feathers or something.
I looked in the mirror and I noticed my hair.
By this stage, I had cut it a little bit shorter, down to my jawline, and I guess I was living my life so hard that I didn't realize: first of all, when the fuck did I cut my hair?
Second of all, my natural red hair now has toughs of some gray in it, or straight up white.
It was bizarre because next month I would be turning 25, and already I had several bundles of white hair around the front crown and near the back.
It almost looked like a purposeful style, but I guess having fun ages you too.
So does sadness. At least I don't look like Uncle Daryl.
As I was going through my house just chilling, about to go to the music room, I remembered something. My eyes flicked to the garage because… something about last night felt… different. My feet padded to the garage and when I opened it, I froze.
That wasn't just part of my trip. There legitimately was a gigantic hole in my windshield that looked like it partially went over into the driver side.
Most of it was missing, like something had broken into it.
Swallowing, I walked down the steps of the garage and to the car and looked through the hole just like I did the night before.
Something was slumped over in the back.
It looked like a beach ball or something underneath a cloth.
Swallowing and shaking now that gravity was affecting me again, and I could feel my feet on the warm concrete of the garage, I opened the back door and my whole body locked up.
The demoness that I saw last night was real. And it wasn't a beach ball in there.
It was a woman.
"H-hello?" I asked gingerly.
What the fuck was she doing in my car?
Leaning forward, I nudged her. She was slumped over on her right side, and the reason I thought she was a beach ball is because she was pregnant. Fully pregnant, almost like she would have given birth any day or something. It wasn't a dream.
"Miss?" My voice cracked as I swallowed hard.
When I reached forward to feel her pulse and felt none, I tried to shake her awake…
All the blood…
And seeing that her eyes were open and dried out, her lips were blue, and her skin looked pale from all the blood loss… all the blood that was all over my car, the seats, the carpet… my hands…
No.
Dipping myself out of the car, I put my bloody hands around my head, pacing back and forth, shivering like mad. Instantly, my mind went a million miles per second.
Should I bury her?
First thought.
I was wondering like crazy what to do because…
I can't go to jail.
Did I hit her?
I don’t remember hitting anyone.
Seriously, this can't be happening to me; this must be a dream.
I’m high. I’m going to wake up now.
It’s a dream.
But it wasn't.
My mind frazzled with the settling realization that the woman in my car was really there… dead. In MY car.
The first person I called was… well, it was Malcolm. Because he always knew what to do.
"Malcolm?"
"Hey buddy, you good?" he asked.
Shaking my head with my eyes closed, I started hyperventilating. "There's a woman in my car," I said, my voice cracking, shaking like crazy.
"Okay."
"No, there's a… there's a fucking dead woman in my car!!" I said, shaking harder.
Malcolm was quiet for a while. "Are you high right now?"
"No, I'm not fucking high, Malcolm!!!! There's a fucking dead pregnant woman in my fucking car!!!!! I don't know… what the fuck…" I said, holding the phone and then grasping my hair, my hands shaking.
All I wanted to do was get high again, not to deal with this. Maybe this was real, maybe this was just a remnant of…
"King? Hey, Buck. Buck?"
"Yeah?" I said with tears in my eyes, putting the phone back to my ear.
"Okay, I need you to calm down first of all," he said in a measured tone.
"Calm down? There's someone dead in my fucking car!!!! How the fuck am I supposed to calm down!!!"
"Buck… it's going to be all right. Listen to me, are you listening to me?"
I calmed down in that moment. "Y-yeah."
"You got to call the police."
"No." I shook my head vehemently because there ain't no way I was going to jail.
"Buck… you gotta call the police. Because if you want to try to hide or do anything it's going to be worse. At least if we get some lawyers… we can handle this together, okay?" he said.
"Can you… can you come over?" I asked him, wanting a lifeline.
"I can't do that, bro. I can't help you if I'm in there with you," he said.
"I don't want to go to jail…" I cried, terrified of what my life was going to be.
I grew up my whole life feeling like I was captive, and then now it felt like my life was going to end.
How was I going to go to jail? Our band was signed and doing well and our life was amazing and I had freedom, and going to jail meant that I would never ever see my paradise again.
How was I going to get that feeling? How was I going to go back to my true home?
If I was in jail, I couldn't have access to it.
Then I started going down the line of thought that maybe I could just run away and go to Mexico.
"Dude, this will blow over. Call the police."
After we hung up, my first instinct was to do the complete opposite of what Malcolm told me to do. Get this bitch out of my car and roll her up in a rug or something and hide her in the walls or…
Then I looked at her. I couldn't do that. As bad as I was and as many mistakes as I've made throughout my life, I couldn't be that person. I was too scared. I was too cowardly.
So, at 6:42 a.m., I called the police.
???