Page 211 of Texting Dr. Stalker

“Did you know I’m haunted?” I hiccupped, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and reaching for the Johnny Walker again.

I’d long since stopped pouring it from the bottle into a glass. What a waste of time. It was way easier to drink straight from the source.

Colin’s tone sharpened, losing his humour. “You’re haunted? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I mean…” I licked my lips and closed my eyes against the spinning conservatory. “My grandmother and her grandmother are still playing tricks on us, even now.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’ve fucked up shoow bad,” I groaned, leaning forward and digging my elbows into my knees. Taking another mouthful of sharp liquor, I wrenched off my glasses and tossed them onto the side table where a stack of crossword puzzle books used to tower from my granddad doing four a day.

“Uh-oh, now it makes sense.” Colin clucked his tongue. “You’re drunk.”

“Am not.”

“You’re slurring.”

“It’s shbetter than hurting.”

“What’s hurting? You okay?” Something shuffled in the background. “You know not to operate heavy machinery when drinking.”

“I hurt her,” I whispered, my voice catching.

“Hurt who?” His tone instantly switched to the supportive doctor vibe I’d heard him use with his patients. Cajoling and kind, but no-nonsense at the same time. “Sailor? You’re saying you hurt your neighbour?”

“I-I’m just like him.”

“Like who?”

“I really messed up, Col.”

“Fuck, you’re legit starting to scare me. Look, come here and sober up, yeah? Grab an Uber and we’ll have a late dinner. Probably best you don’t sleep there tonight.”

“Nah…” I swallowed another bitter mouthful of whiskey fire. “I need to tell her I died and then I’m just gonna crash.”

“Wait. Who’s dying? Don’t do a damn thing until you’ve slept the booze out of your system.”

“Can’t. Need to do this before it’s too late.”

He cursed under his breath. “How much have you had to drink, Zan?”

I eyed the bottle with blurry eyesight and shrugged. “No idesha.”

I took another sip.

I hadn’t meant to call him.

However, the drunker I got, the sadder I became, and I desperately needed someone to figure out how to remove the agonising dagger that’d permanently wedged itself in my heart before I went insane.

Leaning back in the chair, I ran my hand through my hair.

At least it was back to being red.

I’d had a shower and dressed in black track pants and a white tee before aimlessly trying to figure out what to eat.

That was where the whiskey came in.

I’d found no food, only this bottle.

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