SO COLD (18+) currently editing

Chapter 25.5

CHARACTER VIEWS DO NOT REPRESENT MY OWN. Please be civil in the comment section.

It was now half past seven in the morning. Traffic had been dense, jam packed with cranky parents and loud-mouthed kids. The sky was aglow: blaringly bright, glowing yellow and happy blue. The heat seemed unnatural after weeks of biting cold wind and days of depressing downpour. I had a mental checklist: food, shower, sleep. Hours of unconsciousness would be a blessing.

I faltered, sluggish, shoulders almost limp, knees struggling to keep upright as I remembered with a tired old groan: college was at eight o' clock. "Mother of God." I should probably go, I thought hard about what I might miss: Introduction to new topics. Coffee chugging teachers. Trying to figure out whether so-and-so was pregnant or just fat. Stares. Questions. Gross toilets. Pencils that would be borrowed and returned chewed.

My phone beeped:

im @ college. R u coming?

Finally deciding, I texted back:

No, see you later?

He said he'd be back at the flat around four in the afternoon and to watch out for Cole's call. In the kitchen, snacking on crackers and cheese, my phone rang, and I rolled my eyes, answering. "What?"

I had set the phone down on the counter, on loud speaker thankfully as Cole bellowed, his tone coal-hot mad, answering his own questions, "Do you realised what the fúck you two have done? No, you fúcking don't, do you!? I figured you'd have more brain cells than Irvin. Burnham's a fúcking prick. I don't doubt he's got a tracker on you right now. If you could stop for a fúcking second and find out where you dropped your brain-"

"Oh, piss off, you wanker." I cut the call. He rang again and I let it go straight to voicemail. My mood had worsened, darkened, spitting hot furious, a flame wild and irritated, flickering glimmering sparks.

No longer hungry but needing a drink to baby me to sleep, I checked the cabinet under the sink. Daniel often hid alcohol amongst the cleaning sprays and bleach bottles so that when Cole would do his sweep, he'd have a backup supply. We were budding alcoholics, Daniel miles ahead of me in the race to ruin our lives.

I should probably talk to him about his substance abuse but not right now: I found a six pack of cobwebbed beer, a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey and a blue bottle of alcopop. Pouring myself a glass of whiskey, I hadn't realised something was wrong until I took my first mouthful.

Someone stood behind me: their breathing quiet, but not silent. My neck prickled, my senses alert, feeling like I had just took a shot of fear and adrenaline, energy level increasing, similar to the state after chugging down Monster can after Monster can, my fingers buzzed, my breathing slowed, shoulders hunched, and then-I smelt the pungent stench of onions which was a surprise but there were more pressing concerns: such as trying to avoid getting hit, for one.

I ducked at the last minute, twisting away from harm's reach. The bat swung, missed, glided through air. I followed the hand to the body to the face. I couldn't contain my shock: "You!" I exclaimed, and he swung again, face shiny with sweat, eyes hard, teeth gritted, nervous. The reporter was determine and grunting as he swung the bat but there was also nervousness and anxiety. His first rodeo in ...in what exactly? What the hell was going on!?

The whiskey sloshed out of the glass onto the slippery tiles. Andrew, in his haste to follow after me and whack me around the head, failed to realise the spilt drink. He slipped, and for a second it almost seemed like he wouldn't fall, but his face drastically changed to an oh-shit! expression and down he went.