Jailbird Tango

Part 24: The Morning After

I woke up in my bed at the manor. Blinking tiredly, trying to get my damn eyes to focus in the bright light, I groaned. My throat was red raw and the headache felt more like an earthquake inside my skull.

As there was a quiet knock on the door, I hid under the covers, sighing in relief at the darkness.

'Told ya that Dark always knows!' Wilford smirked, making me wince at the volume. 'Left ya some good old hangover cure - pain killers and pickle juice. Seems like ya went hard'

'Yeah...' I groaned.

'And let me guess. After all the appearances and la-di-da, she was still a bitch? Been there done that, ended up gay.' He continued happily.

I felt my stomach lurch in anxiety, but I wasn't so sure why. Was it the talk of Dark and Wilford? Or was it the sudden need to roll over and vomit on the floor? Crawling out from the covers, I looked up from under the covers, squinting in the harsh light.

'Good man, how are you sitting up? Has the confession to Dark happened yet, or is it another time that you get that drunk?' Wilford mused, handing me a glass of pickle juice. I took it, wincing at the smell.

'...I don't...ever intend on drinking again...' I groaned. Wilford let out a sardonic chuckle.

'Ah. So it has happened, such a shame. Now, I'll get the doctor because your arse needs to stay in bed. If you see Dark...I wasn't here' He said sternly, but with a giggle. I shook my head gently, resisting the urge to hurl. He smiled before almost disappearing with a blink. I shook my head, curing how hungover I felt.

I crawled back under the covers, almost like a mole snaffling its way back into its grimy cave. For sure that's what it felt like.

What the hell happened last night? I could hardly remember anything. Mostly just feelings and moments of blackouts. I knew that I was never going to see Natalie again, and wasn't sure why, other than the sneaking suspicion it was her that got me that drunk. I sat on the edge of my bed, shivering and heaving slightly. Gripping onto the sheets. Looking down at my feet. It was cold, stifling and shiver inducing.

I stared at my feet, shivering slightly. Even as the door opened, I stayed put.

'You have a...date... Meeting Yancy at the prison. Third Sunday?' They said monotonously as they closed the door behind them. I barely looked up, to see them standing a reasonable distance.

With a final shake and nod of my head, I leaned forward to get up, ignoring the pounding of my head, clutching the mattress with a death-grip. It took two deep breaths before I felt like I was choking. Gagging. Hacking cough. Straight up. Over Dark's grey suit.

'S-sorry' I said in between coughs.

'Don't... Mention it. Get up. See the doctor if you must. Just hurry up.' They said, sounding like he wasn't seething, which made the nausea return.

'Y-you're not going to...'

'Do what? I could, but, those choices would not be very helpful...to anyone except for myself, regrettably. Just leave the house, so that your chance of... how shall I put this, staying? Yes. That will do. Your chance of staying may dwindle.' They said, coldly polite.

I nodded, taking a sip of pickle juice to wash down the taste of arse and liquor, downing some of the painkillers with it.

Standing up, I was so shaky on my feet. It was a mixture between when I'd pulled those two all nighters last year, coupled with the last time I had stomach flu... How on earth did I drink so much!? It was almost surprising that Laura hadn't called me like eight times by now... then again, unlike the other times I went missing, I hadn't been home for a while and she was under the impression I was taken care of.

Since when had I changed clothes? Shaking my head, I pulled on my jeans and slipped a sweater over my pajama shirt. At the thought of breakfast, my stomach growled both hunger and protest. Maybe a coffee for the road would be enough?

Stifling a yawn, I trudged down to the kitchen, the rest of the house almost felt alive. Wilford was sitting at the dining table, with a couple of the others. Yan was at the kitchen bench, so was the Host.

I grabbed a cup of coffee, saying a very croaky, 'morning' to everyone.

'Though the Host says good morning in return, he also advises that Evan may want to take a pancake to eat on the walk to Happy Trails....'

'Thanks Host, but-' the host cut me off.

'The Host advises Evan that it would be a wise idea'

I nodded, grabbing a buttered pancake from the stack next to the pan, sipping on my coffee. It was still warm, but not enough to burn my fingers.

Ruffling Yan's hair with my free hand as she screeched in protest, I left the house to begin the long walk to Happy trails. It was cold and a little grey, but with my coffee in one hand and pancake in the other, and of course avoiding the goose on the way out of the yard, I felt a bit better.

The guards, used to me by now, after doing the usual security checks, waved me through. I went to the usual phone booth and sat down, feeling a little more awful than I was, but I had an inkling that it wasn't the hangover.

Yancy was led out from the corridor, sitting down, happily wearing my sweater. It certainly suited him, and he looked warm and comfortable, despite the cold of the prison.

'Hey Yancy' I croaked.

'Evan, are... youse okay?' He asked, sounding more concerned than I had expected, especially considering he was sporting a black eye.

'Had a rough night...' I groaned, still trying to smile.

'Eh so did I's... Hank pulled out the Hooch wine agains to celebrate my return from solitary, though, Sparkles McGee wants to steal this sweater youses gave me' He smiled. I couldn't help but return it, feeling a little warm.

'How did you get into Solitary anyway?' I asked curiously, maybe I didn't want to know...

'Oh, that's simples. I was sleepin in this sweater and the next morning at breakfast, after Tiny already stole it once, Sparkles McGee had his eyes on it, which didn't fly with me you know? Then he says that I shouldn't be writin youses, especially with whats yous writes to me... but I tells him to shove off and then, punched him. Right in the nose!' He told proudly.

I looked at him with disbelief. 'You punched him? Isn't he your friend?'

'Eh, but, talkin doesn't get all the way in here. He got a few good ones on me, buts... I was the only one put in' He shrugged, wincing as he moved his shoulder.

'Oh Yancy...' I frowned, the pity was almost all consuming.

'Hey, hey, hey. That aint why we're talkin here though. Youse said you wanted to talk... about somethin...'

'Oh yeah... I know that you don't, like me that much, and that we're forced to get along so that deals can be accomplished... But I wanted to thank you for responding to my letters I guess.'

'That's it?' His brow was furrowed. I nodded, just as the warden called out that visiting hours were almost over.

'Well no. The others know that you should be staying with them soon when, you get out on parole of course.'

'Parole? I ain't gettin on parole any time soon...' He admitted, a little sheepishly, I jolted back from the phone.

'W-what?'

'Why would I?' That was true. I didn't know what to say because, what did he have to gain from leaving prison? Why would he go on parole? I pushed away that small inkling of hope, it was ridiculous, why would I feel hopeful about him going on parole?

'I-I don't know... it is your choice I guess'

'Yeah.... is that all you wanted to talk about? No present this time?' He asked. Was he pouting? No...

'It'll have to be' I said resolutely, hoping that I hadn't forgotten what I had truly wanted to say. Nothing was coming to mind, so I assumed the coast was clear.