Chapter Two. The Clock and The Ugly Sea Creature

Chapter Two.

The Clock and The Ugly Sea Creature

I woke up on the bathroom floor with the phone book clutched in my hands. Again. I blinked and tried to get the sand out of my eyes, and the hangover started so that I could then begin to get over said hangover.

I immediately regretted that decision and laid back down on the nice comfy bathmat, that happened to be stained with blood. Again. I prayed that the pounding in my brain would miraculously go away with no effort being put forth on my part. Stupid broken bottle. Stupid glass. Stupid party.

Thinking about the glass that had been imbedded in my size seven feet, I cautiously opened one eye. When the room stopped spinning I opened the other one, and after two misses, pulled myself up to a sitting position with the tub behind me and the precious phone book clutched to me like a life preserver.

I glanced at my feet and was pleased to see that I had apparently removed the glass and clumsily bandaged them. They hurt, but not the kind of hurt that meant there was still glass there. I have no memory of doing that, but I don’t remember a lot of things that I apparently did. At least this wouldn’t end up in litigation. I fuzzily recalled throwing a bottle at someone, or someone’s shirt, and then walking on the glass. Stupid tequila.

I cautiously looked down at the phone book and turned the pages, quietly, until I hit the pizza section. I scanned all the usual suspects and noted what times each one was open. Crap. I had no idea what time it was. Was it even day? With a sigh I forced my neck to work and craned my head to see the clock that I had put in the bathroom, thinking it might be easier to read than my watch.

Bruce’s Mom had given it to me last Christmas. It was an artsy affair, and probably had cost her a fortune, but for some reason was shaped like what can only be described as an ugly sea creature. It had the tentacles of a kraken, but then somehow segwayed into a mermaid, and it had tons of sparkles. It belonged in the room of a twelve year old girl who likes mermaids, but wants to be older than a girl who likes mermaids. I was neither, and never cared for mermaids or anything fanciful or girlish. I liked skulls and zombies, not unicorns. I felt a flash of sympathy for my mother who had stopped trying to give me things like that clock around my eighth birthday. I felt a flash of unreasonable dislike for Bruce’s mother, who really had never gotten to know me at all. Which was probably just as well.

As soon as I get this pizza, I thought as I dialed the numbers on the portable house phone which luckily still held a charge, I am going to throw out that damn clock