Chapter 6

Okay, that wasn't how Bo had pictured that whole waking up on the day after a night like that. A day after carrying her boss through town and up those one hundred thirty eight stairs.

Like not at all.

Well to be honest, it hadn't been an ordinary Friday night, why should it have been an ordinary Saturday?

Her mouth was dried out. The taste was more likely the newest flavor of 'when the fuck did I suck on Dad's old worn out fishing socks'. A mix of seaweed, smelly feet and stagnant lake water. That green water covered in duckweed, which odor left nothing for the imagination but the message seemed crystal clear: Don't eat fish out of my depth, Doofus!

Bo's right arm was lying over her eyes. Limp. She poked her left forefinger into the flesh, but felt nothing. She tried to move with all she had. Within her third attempt she had even considered that it wasn't even her arm which made her freak out for a second.

Yeah, well, such things happened.

When she was in middle school, Bonita, one of the famous chicas from school threw one of her even more famous parties. Her parents were rich and busy and most of the times out of town. The effect? Sleepover-trance-vodka-energy-happenings. No shit. She even made fliers.

Almost half of the school came to those 'Stveppenings'. Yeah, Bonita came up with this mix of words. Sleepover Trance Vodka Energy Happenings. Short Stveppenings. And boy, was she proud about that day fly of a brainwave. Even a broken clock was right twice a day, wasn't it?

The word even made it into the top 10 of the 'most used'. Right after 'Fuck yourself' and before 'Sorry I'm late'.

Bo hated trance or dance or however this abnormality of up and down beats were called. She always found it very annoying to listen to. Anyway, she did appreciated a good vodka and Bonita knew how to wet Bo's panties. Well, not like wet wet but it was pretty much the most expensive and clear vodka Bo's taste buds had ever had the chance to bath themselves in.

Going to Stveppenings had always been the same. Everytime. Bo would walk into the mass of already drunk school mates - since the cool never appeared early - and as some kind of welcome ritual, she got groped by Ted. Next on the list was his best buddy Bradt with 'dt' – seriously!

Last but not least Dee Bee. One would have thought that dude would have learned his lesson in Kindergarten already. But no.

Big clap, long whistle, fast turn on the heel and her right knee found Balls-eye. Fifty points straight. Maybe dart was her game.

The order varied from party to party. Ted, Dee Bee, Bradt. Bradt, Ted, Dee Bee. Either way they would grope and Bo would ball-kick and nose-punch. In between she would wave her hello to the host - a girl'd got manners and stuff - and head straight into the kitchen passing by beer bongs and flunky-ball games on her way.

Vodka bottle in her left hand and one of those potato salad bowls clamped under her right arm - she became hungry when she drank - Bo walked up to the Major bedroom. Major with a capital 'M'. Bonita's brother hated it when anyone else but him opened the door to his bedroom slash Batcave.

Then why would he never lock it, huh?

Seriously, this dude had collected - or stolen - a very significant amount of DC merchandise including a Batman costume from the Batman series from 1966 with a signature of Adam West. She had tried it on once or twice.

But purple just wasn't her color.

She drank and ate and watched some of the old VHS that were neatly sorted in a closet next to the TV. Here and there the brunette growled at a couple bursting through the door in heavy patting sessions until she would eventually fall asleep spread out on the bed drooling on Warner Brothers bed sheets.

That one morning Bo had woken up with sore muscles and a leg that wouldn't move nor responded to poking and pinching. So she panicked. Or how Bo would probably tell the story: thoughtfully considered to use the nail scissor from the bedside table and ram it right into the thigh.

Gently.

A body next to her screamed in pain and after opening her eyes fully she could ascertain beyond doubt that it hadn't been her leg wrapped in that ugly dirty baggy jeans.

Well, things like that happened.

So this Saturday, while lying on her couch and listening to Sally's good morning sonata on the kitchen counter was a very regular Saturday morning. Bo had expected to be woken up when others went to bed but the non-responding of her limps was new.

"Damn, fucking.. Sally, cut it!"

Her voice raspy and her throat burning from sleeping with an open mouth most of the night.

She didn't snore! Just pointing it out here.

The brunette rolled herself off of the stone of a seating possibility and crouched her way to the front of her coffee table. She was holding her limb right arm in her left, massaging the hell out of it.

"Come on, ugh! At least you are mine."

Giving up her attempt to bring it back to life she stood up and walked with eyes on the floor. Her head was hanging low and her hair pointing to all directions tangled wildly in front of her face. Her arm was awkwardly dangling at her side as she made her way towards the hysterically whimpering sound station.

Thinking about at least ten ways to catapult that phone back to where no sun would ever shine, she reached over the counter blindly to where Sally's night camp usually was. Right next to the dishtowel to wrap around her and near the drawer Bo would place the muffled yell-er in.

"I swear to the Masters of the Universe, I'll throw you against the..."

Bo's left hand got hold on something on her counter that was way too thin and somewhat abrasive and just not Sally. She flinched as if she had touched the burning hot kettle on Ms Turkeywattle's stove yet again.

Ms Turkeywattle was the single lady from next door to her parent's house, where Bo's mum's tea tasting group took place way back. It was where Bo had learned how to burn her mouth without letting anyone know that she couldn't taste shit anymore. Especially not the tender, floral flavor of that Darjeeling 'First Flush' harvested at the acclivity of the Himalaya after the winter break.

Seriously, what's more fun for a twelve year old? Sitting at some tea party listening to some mid-fifties women and her mum. With every word the host's throat's wobbling lappet was dancing. Just like a turkey wattle.

There hadn't even been cake, since that distracted the taste buds. And the non ending philosophizing about color, smell and aftertaste of way too hot water with herbs Bo hadn't even heard about.

Shuddering, Bo looked up through tired eyes. Way too early for Polaroids like that. Siren-Sally stopped yelling for the next few minutes.

‚Snooze alarm' it's called Bo had learned from Bob after one of their small talks about fairness and unfairness of life and who would win the trophy of most unwanted jobs.

Focusing her eyes on what seemed like a piece of paper caused furrowed brows.

"What in She-Ra's name..."

Grabbing Bo's still very much dead right arm, she let it fall onto the counter with a thud and lent over to pick up that white, neatly folded piece of paper. Her left thumb lifted one side up to reveal a few words written with a black pen.

Loft. 7 pm sharp. Lewis.

"That woman knows how to write verbose stories."

Turning around to her bed she shook her head.

"How the heck did she make it out of that Sleeping Beauty State and back home in less than..."

With that Sally called for attention again. Bo turned around. With routine she wrapped her in the towel and shoved her into the drawer before the brunette scuffled her way to her bed and let herself fall onto the mattress.

"Gosh. It still smells like...", she shook her head.

‚That's not where we go to, Bo.'

"M-my washing powder."

With a sigh Bo turned around. Bane had found his way onto the upper shelf of the self-made rack and was looking down on the woman. His only eye opened widely. A pushy tile waving slowly.

"Loft. Loft. Loft."

Bo's left middle finger was tipping slowly into the flesh of her awakening forearm. Eyes gazed up onto the ceiling.

"Whatever that means, it can't be good. And also it's Saturday. How did she even get back home?"

Bo locked gazes with that curious furball. With another sigh Bo decided to take a nap. One of those naps that were timed half an hour and before you know it, three hours had passed. It just wasn't the time to think, or speak, or do anything but sleep yet.

"Saturday. For some people that day is holy."

People like Pete's dad. On Saturdays he used to have his very own pilgrimage. Starting with making his family wave him goodbye through the living room window after he closed the front door to march on for a long walk with boots and a stick and some water-like liquid in a glass bottle.

His little crusade ended a few houses down the street to Mister Lack's bunker where they would hide and get drunk together. Yeah family can be one hell of a challenge. Bo always wondered why no one ever found out about his little Saturday ritual. One cold literally tell from the tip of his nose. Strawberry red.

Her eyes fell shut and her arm went back up into a position that would make it end up the same way she had woken up before.

Numb.

The smell of the blonde's shampoo all over the sheets. It smelled like this shampoo for blonde hair to make it, well, blonde and by the way, Bo tried, but apparently it didn't work with brown hair.

With the thought of sleeping on the same spot like that annoying and stubborn and totally not her type kind of Lewis-person made her mind drift away again.

„Loft."