Criminal Essense

Chapter 7: Hangovers and Answers

Chapter 7: Hangovers and Answers

March 7th, 2013, 8:02 a.m.

The Apartment

Piper woke with the most horrid headache, and as she sat up, it only made it worse. She could barely remember anything from last night, only that she had woken up. Alcohol, she found, had a different effect on her. She could get drunk off not even a full bottle of beer, but at least it numbed the pain for a little while, and it kept the nightmares at bay. New York brought all of them back, though she thought that they had finally gone away after being in Prison for four years.

“Oh, good,” Reynolds said, already in the kitchen. “I was just about to wake you. The trial’s in an hour.”

Piper groaned and sank back into the couch, wishing she could sleep so soundly every night. “You're up early,” she complained

“Yup, might as well shower and get dressed, there’s cereal in the pantry.” Reynolds was trying his best to sound casual, hoping that she didn’t remember their conversation from last night. She didn’t give any hint of remembering, so Reynolds pretended it never happened, though his mind was buzzing with new information. He had finally found his motive.  

“Oh, good, breakfast.” Piper stood groggily, putting a hand to her head, stumbling over to the kitchen sink where she vomited, the contents of last night's drink mixed with bile pouring down the drain. “On second thought, I think I’ll skip out on the cereal.”    

“Good idea,” Reynolds said.

“I can’t believe you let me get drunk.”

“Please, you finished it off in one huge swig, I’m actually impressed.”

“You disgust me,” she joked, before grabbing a towel from the closet and heading into the bathroom. When she turned on the faucet, the water was nice and hot, and she stripped down and stepped into the shower, closing the curtain behind her. It was nothing like the showers they had at the State Penitentiary. There, they had no curtain, just a moldy shower head sticking out of the wall that only produced cold water.

She sighed, letting the warm water cascading down her body, the pale scars that outlined her torso hardly even felt, though they were definitely remembered. She didn’t mind washing her hair, she only stood there, the water her own physical therapy for her beaten and tattered body.

After fifteen minutes, she turned the faucet off, stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around herself. She changed in the bathroom, deciding on some skinny jeans, her sneakers, and a t-shirt. Stepping out of the steaming room, her hair still damp, she went into the kitchen, deciding instead on an apple, knowing that milk would most likely upset her stomach if she were to try the cereal

She checked the time shown on the microwave and called out to Reynolds, who came into the kitchen, still debating whether he should bring something up. “Do you know if there’s a Windy in your old apartment complex building?” he asked, and Piper’s breath caught in her throat

“I don’t recall,” she lied, not turning to face him.

“She’s kind of sick,” he prompted, and Piper shook her head.

“Maybe. I’m not exactly the one who’d know, I haven’t been there in four years, you know, except for yesterday.”

“That’s funny,” he said, “because I spoke with the doorman at the front yesterday, and he said saw you come in the day before. Said you went to the sixth floor. Room 462.

Piper said nothing. Instead, she tried busying herself with putting up dishes that lay in the sink, but dropped one, and it shattered as it hit the floor. Frustrated, she placed her elbows on the counter in front of her and put her head in her hands, fighting to keep it together. She stood there for a while, trying to focus on her breathing.

In. . . . out. . . . in. . . . out. . . .

Finally, she stood, face expressionless, meeting the detective’s weary gaze. “You will not be dragging her into this, you hear me? She’s gone through enough and if you so much as--” she didn’t continue, and she didn’t need to. Balling her hands into fists, she let out a breath, pushing past him. “Can we just go already?”

She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, Reynolds needing a moment to recover. When he had found his bearings, he followed her lead, shutting the door behind him. “Wait--”

Turning to face him, Piper stopped, her glare filled with hatred, so much hatred. “What do you want from me?!” she demanded.

“The truth.

“You want the truth?!” she yelled at him. “The truth is I’m sick and tired of this! I’ve wasted four years staring at a wall and wishing for it all to just be over! Four years lost, and I didn’t even do it! You wanna know the worst part? The worst part is, I’m beginning to wish that I did kill him, because if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

She turned away, tears in her eyes, and strode towards the elevator, pressing the button multiple times before muttering, “Screw it,” and took the stairs.