My phone rings. I pull it from my pocket, the vibrations annoying me. I squint at the screen.
And my heart jumps.
Alina.
Not one of the many people I pretty much told to fuck off, but Alina.
I let the phone clatter to the floor, and I drink some more.
I’m not sure if I pass out or not, but when I open my eyes next, the shadows stretch from the partially drawn curtains and darken the room. I knock something over as I turn on the lamp, then I collapse down from the effort.
My phone starts to buzz once more. Alina. Again. I can’t speak to her. I can’t. She’s better off without me, better offwithDemyan. Just better off.
I fumble for the phone and finally pick it up. The call stops, and I manage to activate the facial recognition and then turn off the phone, letting it clatter down.
“Albert!” I call, wanting the dog to come and be with me.
But he doesn’t answer.
I take a swig from the bottle and struggle upright, looking about.
But through the layers of fuzz in my head, I remember that Albert’s not here. I dropped him off at Demyan’s in a genius move this morning.
Or was it dumb?
I really don’t know. I reach for the phone again but stop myself.
“N-no,” I slur, “you didn’t answer. You turned off your phone for a reason.”
I’m in no state to do anything but get drunker.
So I work on that.
Poundingfrom outside my head jars me awake.
“What the fuck?” I fall off the sofa and hit the ground, sending the empty vodka bottle rolling.
I frown at it.
Wasn’t the fucking thing mostly full when I started?
Fuck me.
The room’s shadowy except for the glowing lamp behind me, and outside is black.
The thumping keeps going. Bang fucking bang fucking bang.
What the hell is it?
The front door.
I rub my eyes and push myself to my feet, the time on my watch stating 4:43 in the fucking a.m.
No wonder I feel like utter shit. Slightly drunk, mostly sober, and full of pathetic crap.
The pounding continues.
“Hold your fucking horses,” I say, stalking through the foyer to the door. I pull it open and lean heavily against it. “What?”
