This Bitch is a Hangover

Her fingers shook as she flicked the switch to turn off the lights in an attempt to calm the ache in her forehead. The voices in her head had been screaming at her all day. 

She called out of work at the veterinary hospital where people yelled at her over the phone. She didn’t feel like being blamed for Bella’s online prescription request being rejected because she was overdue on vaccines. Or being accused of being money-hungry because Milo’s emergency surgery was going to cost five thousand dollars, and the animal hospital doesn’t accept your human insurance. 

The majority of her day was simply her sitting on her bathroom floor with the shades drawn. It was the only room in the studio apartment that had cool floors. Plus, the occasional steaming hot shower took the pressure in her head away. 

But not the demons. 

The empty glass tank leaning against the bathroom counter still needing a wash nearly sent her over the edge. A reminder of another of her failures. The second leopard gecko she rescued passed away last week, was it last week? The week before that? She had forgotten to feed it enough. Honestly, most days she forgot she even owned it. The heat bulb had broken and she didn’t have the money to replace it. 

Well, she did have the money. She just wanted to spend it on parties instead. 

Living paycheck to paycheck is an all too familiar concept in this day and age. That wasn’t what bothered her friends. The friends that haven’t spoken to her since she threw up on the bar during the cider crawl a few weeks ago. Months ago? They kept telling her she shouldn’t spend her last twenty dollars for the week on a 30-rack. 

The weeks she had more money to spend were spent at the Night Shark every evening after work. Sometimes still in her scrubs, snorting cocaine off a makeup mirror in a stall in the men’s bathroom. 

It was all she could do to silence the voices. 

They came to her the day she cut off her family. All of them. Her mother hit her every chance she got, dad got his boss pregnant then left to start a new life with them. Her older brother came out as gay, and that he had been fucking their adopted cousin. He ran off and nobody knew if he was okay. After that it was just her and mom. Mom didn’t like that. Kicked her out too. 

The voices blamed her for everything. She was an unruly child so dad had no choice except to sleep his way to the top. Because she would never amount to anything. Mom hit her because she never listened. Would you listen to a narcissist? The voices even told her, in detail, why each of her boyfriend’s dumped her. It was always her fault. 

She shook, feeling the cold of the bathroom floor seep into her ass cheeks. Her contorting stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten, but then threatened to explore at the thought of food. 

Today is day three without any alcohol. 

Which is a big deal considering she had been drinking consistently since her first taste when she was seventeen. 

The voices were loudest today. They craved the bitter taste on her tongue. She cried, alone on her bathroom floor, and begged the voices to go away. The shadows moved, flowing like a ghost. They swarmed her apartment. 

Demons crawled inside from the windowsills. Elongate, leathery fingers stretching over her furniture. And by furniture, it means a TV with no stand, futon where she has woken up next to many strange men, and a dresser she found on the side of the road. The drawers were broken, so she just stacked clothes on top of it. These things in her apartment threatened to topple them to the floor. 

Great. She didn’t have quarters for laundry. 

The water spout of her shower bubbled with leftover water. Thinking she saw a tiny figure leap out with it, she crawled out of the bathroom. Something knocked over the glass tank. It fell to the floor, cracking but not completely shattering. She reached for it, slicing her palm down the middle. 

Scrambling for something to help, she wrapped her hand in worn panties from the corner. She opened the cabinet under the bathroom sink hoping to find something, a bandage, antiseptic. Alcohol. 

She had alcohol in the fridge! A half empty bottle of vodka shoved behind the rotting head of lettuce. 

Cradling her hand to her chest, she leaned against the wall until she was on her feet. That’s when it hit her. Dizziness exploded from her head. The little creatures grabbed her shoulders to keep her upright on the walk to the fridge. 

She threw the door open and rummaged through the contents. A lot less food than she remembered. When did she last go grocery shopping? The head of lettuce was brown and sitting in water in a bag on the lower shelf. She grabbed it, opening the bag in hopes of the voices commanding the demons to eat the rotten garbage, and tossed it across the room. 

The vodka bottle was sideways in the back of the fridge. This particular bottle cost her $22 with tax at the liquor store attached to the gas station down the street. Red berry flavor. Goes great with cranberry juice. 

She grabbed it as she let the panties fall from her hand. Opening the bottle, she poured it onto her hand. It dripped onto the floor. 

The little demons were flying around her head, screaming in whatever language they shared with the voices. One landed on her head and she yelled, tucking her head into her chest alongside her hand. 

The smell of the vodka wafted into her nose. Blood mixed with the burning liquid to drip down her arm. She licked it to keep it off the floor. 

Her tongue erupted in a cheap tasting fake berry. The demons stopped flying. They stood still, staring. The voices in her head waited with them. 

She brought the bottle to her lips and drank it dry.