This isn’t the story I wanted to write, it just isn’t. I thought all of this would have been easier, but time itself can be a fickle bitch. The stream of time is constant, I have tried to stop time by dipping my hand into its cool unforgiving waters, but it finds its way between my fingers, my grasp, to move on. I guess the point is I have no idea what I am truly doing. I just have to let it pass and move on at some point.
I woke up in a cold sweat, which sounds silly just thinking about it. I get up and close the window, the dead of winter and the window is open. At least my fever was gone for now. I made my way to the bathroom, standing in front of the sink I run my fingers around the dark circle under my eyes. I felt as if whatever sickness I had set its roots right into my chest. I cough though there wasn’t a good reason for it. I fall back into bed. I put my hand on her pillow, it was cold. She is staying at her mother’s tonight. It wasn’t anything I did. I try to fall back asleep, but the room is even colder. I slap my hand around the nightstand till I find my device. A couple hours forward, the room is bright and warm. I stand and make my way into the kitchen; the floor greets me with a creak as I step to the liquor cabinet, I pour the whisky into the glass. I take a small sip and another cough for no reason. I set the kettle to boil, just as it whistles the front door opens. I hastily drink the rest in my glass, another cough but yet this one for a good reason. When my fit was through I notice the whistling had stopped and she was standing next to me. I try to clear the taste of whisky from my mouth, but it really didn’t work. She gets close enough to smell it and scowls. “I’m sick.” I said while trying hard to sound sick. Her cold palm feels my forehead. “I say so, go back to bed and I’ll bring you some tea.”
I wake-up to tea spilling over my chest. I must have fallen asleep with the cup in my hand. I stand in a racket, the cup dances on the floor before breaking. She comes into the room in a hurry. I was embarrassed. She catches my glances towards my device. “You know you can’t always run from your problems, even the small ones.” She said as she moves me back to bed. It felt as if my throat was closing and my forehead was melting. I lie back down, close my eyes and she walks out of the room. I reach for my device maybe somehow if I skip enough I would feel better. Not really clear on the idea but I was going to try. My fingers unsystematically glide over the items on the nightstand to find my device, but, dammit, it was gone, she took it. I didn’t mean that she knows me too well. My head is spinning my eyes close.
More tea, just tea, it’s hard to make a Southern Toddy without whiskey or honey, but I digress. I’m starting to feel a little better. Is it Monday, crap. I had a post somewhere about talking with Henry that needs publishing. Forget it.
Well, I was wrong. It doesn’t happen often but yes I was wrong, I am feeling worse. She still hasn’t given my device back. It’s odd that I never noticed how I have become so attached. It feels as if I was missing a limb. She sits at the end of the bed I mumble something to her about my device. She smiles at me and wipes my brow with a damp cloth, Christ that felt good.
The fever broke at some point; I remember tossing and cursing. I feel bad, I said things. I always say things I never mean to. I move my hand to her pillow, it’s empty but warm. My throat was still sore and everything ached, my legs and back pop as I stand from the bed. My device sits on the dresser with a hello kitty notepad. Is it odd that I dislike the idea that she used <3 in a note? Well, I was happy to get my device back. I walk into the kitchen the creak of the floor gives me away as she turns with a smile that makes the whole room into a vivid bloom. “I was going to bring this to you.” She holds the Southern Toddy with shaking hands; I hear the hammer click back before the floor creaks. In an awkward movement, I spin and put myself a few steps in front of her. Bill limps forward with the gun pointing at my brow; my eyes go cross-eyed staring at the barrel. I back up till I bump into her. Her fingers tremble as the course slowly through my pocket for my device. “I can assume for once you know why I am here.” He said stepping closer. “Not really.” I smirked. “You damn fucking know why!” He said while pressing the barrel hard to my cheek. He grins as I feel her hand go tight around the device. Bill’s index finger squeezes and time slows, I watch the hammer swing forward then he vanishes, or well, we do.
We’re in front of her parents’ house. She places my device slowly in my hand, with a tear and a hug I’m gone. I hear the shot when I arrive in our room, I quietly as I could retrieve the 1911 from under my pillow. It wasn’t there; I find it in the space between the bed and wall. I try to walk slowly into the kitchen but we meet in the living room. His gun to my face and mine to his. “We don’t really need to do this again.” I said. He gives another smile while his finger tightens around the trigger. I really didn’t want to do this again, or have this happen in my house. Bill lets out a cough and his weapon slips slightly from his grip, I take the chance and use the end of the 1911 to smack the colt out of his hand. He staggers back and reaches for his wrist, for his device. Before he can get to it my gun is pressed to his temple hard, it felt as if I could bore through his skull without trying. “We don’t need to do this anymore. Just go and do not fuck’en come back!” I said. He lets off a heavy sigh spinning a set of complex knobs he vanishes seconds later.
I get dressed and drive to her parent’s house. I was in for some overdue storytelling, just wish I wasn’t still feeling like shit.