The Morning After (2/3) By Joe Hakim

(1/3), (2/3), (3/3).

I'm crying again. Shit, I thought I could keep it together, but I'm struggling. I go to the toilet and vomit. I haven't eaten anything for what seems like forever so it's just bile and water. My stomach clenches and heaves and I'm a little bit stoned so my head spins and I fall against the bath. It's the all this fuckin' waiting that's fuckin' me up now. I just want today to be over. Actually, I want it to be last night again so I can change things, but that will never happen, so I'll be content to just make it though the day without losing my mind.

In my head it's last night again and we're in the pub. We're having a couple of Coronas, and my partner is talking to Paul in the toilets. There's a few of us out so it'll be a good laugh. We're having a couple of beers now but soon we'll be dropping the first lot of pills, so we'll be switching to water shortly. I'm dancing and laughing, and everything is sweet. When you're working in an office all week, you have to get out of your brains. We don't have kids or responsibility, just each other, so the weekend is laid out in front of us like a fresh sheet of paper waiting to be scribbled on. My partner comes back from the toilet, all smiles and raised thumbs, which lets us all know the transaction has taken place; we're all sorted now, let the fun commence...

...and then I'm back on the bathroom floor and the night is nothing more than a memory, an obscure fragment of my former life, and it doesn't even feel as though it happened. But it did happen, and I know I've got to live with the consequences. I peel myself off the floor and flush away the sick. As I leave the bathroom I catch sight of myself in the mirror and I'm shocked at the person reflected back. It's not me, it can't possibly be me, but it is. I imagine phantoms surrounding me, lifting me up and carrying me over to the sofa.

We did fuck like bunnies when we got home. The Viagra and the Ecstasy made our hearts beat like drum-machines, and we lost ourselves in each other. The smell and taste of salty sweat and the sound of the rhythm on the stereo surrounded us, and we fucked like there was no tomorrow, and as it happened there wasn't going to be one, although we didn't know it at the time. I don't know how long it went on for; all I know is the light had begun to seep through the curtains when we finally stopped. We talked about love and the future as we watched the smoke from the joints rise up, and then we both fell asleep.

And then I'm back in the living room again and there's a knock on the door. They're here at last. I drag myself over to the door. As I open it the first thing I see is the uniforms of the officers, the black coats and shiny buttons, and the tears begin again. 'Are you Catherine Taylor?' one of them asks. I mumble, 'Yes.' The police and the coroners come in, and someone asks, 'Where is he?'

Continued...Next Page (3/3)

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