Blood Lines Part 2

[explorer]

I sat there, bare-ass naked, in front of a guy I’d met only hours ago, holding a handkerchief containing a pack of Marlboro’s and a silver Zippo lighter.

And suddenly my brain figured it was time to play a game of catch-up.
I grabbed the open pack of smokes next to my bed, unconsciously sparked it with the Zippo in my lap, took a much needed, deep inhale and looked around.

What in the fuck had happened?
My clothes were spread all over the floor, there was blood splattered all over my table (and my hand... when did that happen??). And the place smelled like a damn bar on chain-smoker night.
I took another drag, flicked my ashes into a cup, cornered my smoke to the side of my mouth, leaned back and pulled open the window behind the bed.
Took another drag, bent over, gabbed my boxer’s from the floor, stood up and grabbed one of the two beers left on the table.
Warm, of course.
Fuck it I said to myself as I pulled another drag, cracked open the beer and looked around for my damn ashtrays.
Shit. Great sex and all, but this day has been one pissy thing after another.
Took another drag, dumped the nearly spent smoke into an empty beer bottle, took a couple more swigs from the full one in my hand and looked at my watch.
10:30! That’s just fuckin great. I’ve gotta be at work in less than 6 hours.
I pulled my hair back with a frustrated scalp massage. Wiped my sweaty face and marched into the kitchen for a towel and some cleaner for all this damn blood.

Seriously, what the fuck?!
Grabbed a towel and some cleaner and realized my entire right hand was covered in blood too.
Fuck. This was really starting to piss me off royally.
Washed my hands, realized when I’d wiped my face I’d gotten blood smears all over it two.
Just friggin’ great.
Washed my face, grabbed another clean towel (more laundry that won’t likely ever come clean) and walked back to the kitchen table.
Took a deep breath, grabbed the beer I’d left sitting there, swilled it empty and sighed.
This has been one unbelievably shitty day, I thought to myself.
Went to grab another smoke from the pack by my bed and it was empty.
Great. Just fucking great.
Grabbed the fresh pack on the bed, ripped it open, pulled out a smoke, lit up and took a deep breath. Then I reached across to the kitchen table, cracked open the last beer, took a couple of swigs and exhaled thick jets of smoke from my nose.
Fuck, now I knew why Mike did that when he was so pissed off.
And where the hell were the ashtrays??

I leaned over, grabbed a semi-clean bowel, took another drag and set my smoke down on it.
And then again looked at the table.
Shit, what a bloody mess. And I mean that literally.
What in fuck had happened?

Grabbed the bottle of cleaner, took another drag off my smoke, set it back into the make-shift ashtray, looked back for the towel I’d brought out and about had a damn heart attack.

“Hey bud. You forget me?”
It was Craig, still sitting on the floor, buck naked and grinning like the damn Cheshire Cat.

And my brain did yet another serious “rewind.” Only this time, it was in slow motion, and hurt like hell.
Dropped the beer. Dropped the cleaning bottle and fell flat ass backwards.
Lights out.
No one is home.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*SMACK* up against my face.
“Hey, Tate, you still with me bud?”

I didn’t even open my eyes but clocked that fucker straight on with a right hook and heard his head bounce off the wall.

Son of a bitch.
I rubbed my forehead, which was just pounding like you wouldn’t believe and half laughed to myself that maybe I should have done drugs back in college. Likely a lot more fun than this.

Rolled over and rubbed my ass, which was hurting like hell.
Slumped forward off the bed, did yet another head shake to clear the cobwebs and recalled regretting not doing drugs in college.
Half laughed to myself. Yup, that was likely a serious mistake.
Got up, took a much needed piss, looked out the window and marveled at the gorgeous day it was. If I hadn’t felt like such shit, it would have been much more appreciated.
Slid into the seat next to the kitchen table, did a quick ball scratch, grabbed a smoke, lit up with my Zippo, held it, leaned back and slowly exhaled.

Damn, I needed some food.
Took another drag, set my smoke into the ashtray and wandered back to the fridge.
Scrambled eggs sounded good. Maybe some bacon as well.
Pulled out the frying pan, half-ass dumped everything together at once, turned on the stove to a safe medium setting and yawned.
Coffee sounded real good too. Half a pot left from yesterday, which was fine by me. Poured a cold cup, rubbed my ass again and slid back to the kitchen table.
Reached for my cigarette, but it’d burned down so I grabbed another from the pack.

Need to hit the store later and pick up some extra smokes, I thought to myself while lighting up.
Chugged down a cold cup of coffee (not that bad for day old), grabbed another one from the kitchen and sat back down.

Fuck this... who cares how early it is. A beer sounds real good right now, I thought as I went to the fridge and grabbed a nice cold Bud Light.

Sat back down, cracked open the beer, finished my smoke and snuffed it out.
Lit up another one, took a nice, cool sip of the beer, rubbed my ass again (what the hell? I fall off one of the horses and don’t remember it?).
Took another long, slow drag, held it in, laid back and exhaled the pressure.

And that’s when my dumb-ass brain decided to click back into gear.
I wasn’t wearing any underwear.
Boxers... I distinctly remember pulling on boxers.
I did a quick look down (duh), put both hands on the table, took another swig of beer, took a deep breath followed by an extremely long drag on my smoke and probably took the longest, deepest exhales of my life.

I sat back, relaxed, snuffed out my smoke and waited for my heart to stop pounding so hard.

Yer not insane, I said to myself. There’s a perfectly great explanation for this. You just forget taking off yer shorts... big deal.
And doesn’t that cooking bacon smell fantastic??

OK, I’d gone back to normal la-la land. And damn, that bacon did smell great.
Swigged down a bit more beer. Lit up another smoke, relaxed as best I could.
Did I mention? Weird fucking day?

Scratched my ass again, did a quick look at the table (no blood). Only thing weird was my hand. It hurt like hell.
And there it was, the scar.

Oh fuck me, I thought. You dreamed everything else. while in the hell is that still there?

And then the cell rang.
Took the last drag off my smoke, grabbed the phone, hit “talk” and it was Mike.

“Hey kiddo.” he said. “How you doing?”

“Um... fine Mike. (why was he calling me on a weekend? I thought.) You need some overtime help today?” I asked.

“Tate, it’s only Wednesday. You know I ain’t paying you overtime for regular hours,” he replied, and there was a bit of an amusement in his voice. “Just calling to check up on ya.”

I looked again at my watch and shit, it was only Wednesday. And it was 5:30pm!

“Shit Mike,” and I stopped myself... I don’t usually swear around Mike. “Hey, I think I’ve got some kinda bug or something. Really been outta sorts.
I missed work today, didn’t I?”

“Yeh son, you did.” he replied, and again there was a sort of amused tone to his voice. “Don’t make a habit of it. And it wasn’t just today... you been MIA the past two days. Good thing for you Craig called in for ya.
How’s the hand? It looked pretty nasty. I figured you’d got knocked up with some serious bug.”

Craig? I thought to myself.
Holy shit!
I looked over at the bed and there he was, slumped over like a rag doll. I seriously did fucking clock the guy.

“You there son?” came Mike.

“Um.. yeah. Sorry. Evidently a bit still outta it,” I replied.

I slammed what was left of my beer, lit up a fresh smoke and started sweating.
I had absolutely no idea how to cover my ass on this one.

“I’m heading over,” he said on the other end of the cell. “I’ll bring some beer and you and I still need to have a serious talk.”

I looked over at Craig, out cold on my bed, and felt beads of sweat forming.

“Um, now’s not a real good time Mike. I’m still not feeling up to snuff.” I lied through my teeth.

“Bullshit son. I’m on my way.” he barked. “You need anything else from the store?”

“Mike, seriously, I’m not terribly in the mood for company,” I replied.

“Yeah... tough shit. Put Craig on the phone.” he says as I’m looking at an adorable but completely unconscious man on my bed.

“Craig?” I kinda sputtered ‘cause I’m a terrible liar. “Haven’t seen him all day.”

There was a deadly pause, and then from Craig’s pants on the floor came an extremely loud ringing.

Fuck.

“Not there huh?” came Mike’s voice. “Sure as hell sounds like his cell ring tone to me.
Like I said, I’m coming over with some beers and we’re gonna have a serious talk.
You want anything else from the store while I grab the beers?”

“Uh, yeah, a pack of smokes. I’ll pay you back for the beer and cigs when you get here,” I replied without even thinking about what I’d just said.

And there was an uncomfortably long silence on the other side of the phone after I’d spoke. Followed by a genuine laugh.

“You got it son. See you in a few. And if you don’t have aspirin, I’ll bring some of that as well... figuring Craig’s gonna need it if I’m reading things right.” And he hung up.

Shit, this was so fucked up.