I awoke the next morning in a pool of my own drool. I let a low growl escape me as I realized I had passed out last night on the disheveled sheets.
My body ached. My metal bones creaked as I changed positions, moving to catch a glance at my clock.
One thirty in the afternoon.
Shit.
So much for my intimidating speech last night. Assuming you make it out without being heard.
As I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the amount of bottles on the floor startled me. A bit much, even for me. I didn't remember drinking that much. Although, my drinking patterns had widely fluctuated in the last few years. No wonder I slept like I was dead.
I stumbled into the shower, letting the cold spray wash over me and shock my nerves awake. It was at this moment that the pressure in my head became evident. I silently hoped my hangover would not last long. Punching the shower tiles, I cursed my drunkenness. I leaned on the dented wall, watching my split knuckles scab, and then heal over. I stayed like that for a long time. At least until I head the faint noise of my front door.
My eyes flew open, and I hurdled out of the shower, grabbing a towel on the way out of my room. I wrapped it about my waist as I reached the stairs. I frantically searched for what was no longer in my house.
"Adrianne?" I listened, but nothing met my ears. Just the sound of the soles of feet on the driveway. I shook my head. She wanted to leave, she could leave; I didn't care. Probably better off without a kid to annoy me.
It was hours later in the day – when I was dressed – that I routinely stretched across the couch with a drink in front of the TV. A feeble attempt to distract my wandering mind. But throughout the hockey game I was cursing at, my gaze drifted to her shoes.
Yes.
Her shoes.
She had left them. Purposely or unintentionally, I didn't know. I had set them on my coffee table. Black with white laces… interesting shoes. I snorted under my breath, and blindly flipped the channel as I took another drink of my beer.
Environmentalists discovered a deer covered in oil next to the river at 9:00 this morning.
I coughed as I sprayed my alcohol. Damn animal! What the fuck was it doing by the river?
After examining the deer, experts Say it died before the storm having drunk oil-infested water the night before.
And what the fuck was a dead deer doing running in front of people's trucks? I cussed at the TV, and rose to go smoke on the back porch. The guy I was renting from didn't want me to smoke inside. He said he'd throw me out if he smelled it on one of his rare visits when he dragged his happy-ass self down to see how I was treating the place.
The cigar did little good. The intoxicating fumes lost their normal effects as I pondered my unusual behavior.
I hated being in reflective moods.
I hated thinking about my life.
Every time at the end of every philosophical session, I came to the same conclusion. I was a monster. Someone on which time could not be wasted. Every time I sank into the artificial belief that I had a life, the people within it would come to their senses, and remember that I was immortal…
And they were not.
In order to save themselves from a bad outcome, they gradually distance themselves from me until I figured it out. Which always took longer than it should. I was tormented, forever cursed to a life of seclusion. A scientist once predicted I would go mad, and end up as a danger to the world.
Disgusted, I threw my cigarette on the floor of the porch. I ground it into the precious artificial wood, not caring about anything anymore. I stormed inside, searching for another drink.