The world was spinning when she opened her eyes. Her mouth was dry as sand and had the kind of sweet, sickening taste that tells you that you've thrown up. 'Did I go out yesterday?' she thought, 'no'. She closed her eyes again and rolled over. Bad move. The movement made her stomach churn, and for a second, she thought she might hurl right then and there on the couch. She shut her eyes tight, took a deep breath, and clenched her fists. Her hand was crusty. Not really wanting to open her eyes again, she rubbed her fingers together and felt whatever was on her hand crumble into a gritty dust. She had an idé what it might be, but was it worth risking the movement to confirm? No. She did her best to fall back asleep.
She woke back up feeling thirstier now than ever before in her life. She moved her blanket painfully slowly and rose to her feet. She opened her eyes and looked around her tiny apartment. On the table, an empty whisky bottle lay on top of her shirt from yesterday, in turn lying half on top of a stack of 5 dirty plates. 'Not wearing that,' she thought to herself before taking a big step over a few bottles and cans on the floor. She bumped the doorframe to the bathroom and entered. 'Yup, definitely threw up'. She flushed the toilet. Her eyes met her own in the mirror above the sink. Her left eye was bloodshot, and she had somehow cut her lower lip. Looking down, she confirmed what she had suspected earlier. Her hand was covered in brown, dry blood, and her knuckles were deeply cut and bruised. She undressed and stepped into the shower, turning the water temperature down low. The cold water made her body contract and her skin tighten. She opened her mouth in a silent gasp, then opened it wider and angled her head to catch the flowing water. The shower water had a kind of metallic dry taste, but she didn't care. Water pooled on the floor, and a stream of pink flowed down her right arm, dripping from her elbow down to the ground. The gritty, dirty feeling of her hangover was dissipating. She smelled her armpits, decided that it could be worse, and stepped out of the shower. She grabbed a towel and walked out of the bathroom. She took another look around, spotting a small jagged crater in one of the walls. She stumbled over to it and felt it. 'Brick... Did I crack it?'. She looked down and nudged a piece of broken red brick with her left foot. She looked back up, next to the wall crater, and out through the window. The sun was bright and high in the sky, not a cloud in sight. She thought it might be about 2 o'clock. She drew the blinds since she lived on the ground floor, and carefully lowered herself onto the sofa. Her phone told her today was August 3, 14:56. She also saw that she had 6 missed calls from that morning. 'Who the fuck?', she looked at the number, 'What country is this number from? Scammers'. She dropped her phone and curled into a ball. She looked down at herself and decided she wouldn't need to get dressed if she wasn't planning to go outside.
Although she felt better now than when she woke up the first time, she still couldn't think completely clearly. The feeling was as if she had a hard time deciding for herself what she was thinking, as if her brain was engaged in some form of not-so-quiet protest. She must have done something to anger it last night. She was pretty sure that her brain must have been the one who told her to drink. For what it was worth, she felt calm today, or at least calmer than she had for several days. It had been two weeks since her last "bender," and this seemed fairly tame compared to last time. Then again, there was the cracked wall. She looked at the wall, deciding that it was the wall's own fault that it was broken. No one punches a brick wall and breaks it unless it's already broken. 'Is that a load-bearing wall? must be. This place is a shithole'.
She had been staring at the wall for a good long while when her Phone pinged. She gave the wall one last stern look before flipping over onto her back and looking down at her phone. 'Mom: Someone called Dad asking about you. He told me it sounded serious. Are you ok? Want me to drive over to you? love you <3.'. She read the message slowly before rolling her eyes and replying 'I'm fine' and ' don't know what it's about but I'll be fine' and finally, 'don't come over, not feeling 100'. She had just about put down the phone when her mom replied, 'You haven't been drinking again, have you Whinney? I'll ask dad again what they told him over the phone. This might be something you need to take care of. We are here for you if you need us. feel better soon.' Whinney didn't reply; she just put her phone aside and let out a frustrated sigh. A few minutes later, someone rang her doorbell. 'Shit' she whispered. a sinking feeling washed over her. 'Someone probably complained to the landlord about noise'. She decided not to answer the door. Whoever was at the door wasn't letting up, ringing again and again. She threw the blanket onto the floor, frustrated, and made a sound like a very small snarling dog. She found a pair of sweatpants under a plastic bag in the corner of the room and grabbed a t-shirt out of the laundry basket. She looked back at the trash-littered apartment, then opened her door just a crack. On the other side, there stood two people, a man and a woman, neither her landlord. Both were wearing black suits. The man had wide-open eyes and an intense stare. The woman had long, flowing, deep brown hair, and full red lips. She looked at Whinney in a way that made her feel naked. The man smiled and said 'May we come in?'. Straight to the point, Whinney didn't like that. 'No, what do you want?'. Probably Mormons or something, she concluded, those are the guys who like to walk around telling people bout Jesus, right? 'We're special detectives,' said the man, pulling out a badge and showing it to Whinney. She couldn't tell if it looked official or not, but something felt off. This guy made her feel uncomfortable, something about the way he hadn't blinked yet, and the woman behind him seemed to have a way too small shirt and suit jacket. 'Those buttons are working overtime, doing the Lord's work' she thought. 'We spoke to your father, and we tried to call you earlier. It's important we speak to you'. Whinney didn't like these guys, but somehow she couldn't shake the feeling that this guy was telling the truth. She knew that at least some of what the man was saying could be true. 'What's this about? I haven't done anything'. 'Well we have some questions to ask you before we can tell you more. At this time, we simply need you to cooperate'. Fuck this. 'Come back with a warrant or whatever, I'm not talking to you without a lawyer and an attorney'. She tried to close the door, but the woman moved to stop her, and she seemed, at least to Whinney, incredibly strong. 'I'm sorry' answered the man, no longer smiling, 'you realy dont have a choice in this matter. Please don't make this difficult for yourself'. Whinney froze momentarily at those words, her hands clenched the door handle. The woman pulled the door open, and the force flung Whinney into the man. She yelped like a small dog being thrown into a wall. The man stood her up straight, then looked over at the woman. 'What do you think?'. 'Not sure, nothing obvious, but she might be hiding it'. Whiney shook the man's hands off and backed up, something akin to panic creeping in. 'Hiding? Hiding what? Who are you, really? I'm calling the police!'. The man took a step forward, closing the newly formed distance, and said 'This is for your own safety, miss. We suspect that you might pose a threat to others as well as yourself. We are here to help you'.