Page 4 of House of Deceit

“Or you could win the whole thing.” She sucks down some more margarita as I drink straight from the pitcher.

The desire to throw up wakes me. Tripping over my laptop’s charger cord and ripping it off the coffee table, I scramble off the floor, barely making it to the toilet before the contents of my stomach make another appearance. My nose throbs painfully as I lay down on the cool tile floor, breathing in and out. I twist my red hair up into a bun but refuse to move any more.

“Charles? Are you alive?” Courtney calls out. I groan from my new bed, trying not to move my body. A thud rings out from the living room. “Fuck. You need a bigger couch.”

“I don’t have a job to buy a bigger couch.”

“When you have a new one, we are going shopping. I need to be able to roll over while still drunk and not fall off.”

She crawls into the bathroom on her hands and knees, a bottle of water in one hand. Her glasses sit slightly crooked on her nose.

“Oh my God, bless you,” I say, reaching for the sweet nectar.

“You are absolutely delusional if you think this is for you in any way, shape, or form. Fuck off and get your own.”

“Pretty sure that is mine, since this is my apartment.”

“Please stop yelling.”

“I’m not yelling.”

“It sounds like you’re yelling.”

She sits down and cracks open the bottle of water. Half of it promptly spills down her shirt as she tilts the bottle before it reaches her mouth.

I point at her. “That’s karma for not sharing.”

“I hate you.”

“I hate you, too.”

“I hate you more.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Scoot over.”

I wiggle to the left, opening more space between me and the vanity. She lies down, her sable hair spreading out around her head like a halo.

“Did we prank call my husband last night?”

“He was not thrilled. Do I have pants on?” I confirm.

“You do not. Thankfully, you have underwear on, though.” She reaches out and slaps my thigh. “Don’t you remember? You said that your knees were tired of being in straitjackets, so you took them off. Not before you fell on your face, but you got there eventually.”

“Is that why my nose hurts?”

“Probably.”

“So, no more tequila?” I raise my hand for her to shake.

She smacks it half-heartedly before replying, “For at least a week, yeah.”

I doze lightly as we lay on my bathroom floor until Courtney’s voice stirs me awake.

“What are you going to do today?”

“Die, hopefully,” I tell her as my head pounds.

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