The light sifting through the curtains stung somewhere deep in the recesses of Craig's head. The pain was not unbearable, but it was unrelenting. A steady base note resonating from his bleary eyes to the base of his skull. Cold sweat hung on his body and dampening his t-shirt. Hairs on the back of his neck stood erect, as though chilled, even though his body was flush with heat. These sensations were an improvement from a few hours ago where he was reminded that you can continue to throw up long after your stomach is empty.
He sat on the couch with his head in hands as he endured another wave of nausea. This was not how he had envisioned the start of the new year. The wreckage from the night before seemed to cover every available flat surface. Crumbs from potato chips, pizza crusts, and god knows what else clung to the couch and carpet. Beer bottles and glasses in various stages of completion filled the air with the aroma of stale booze. Craig had been trying to clean up some of the debris when the smell forced him to sit down.
"Man, what was I thinking last night?" he muttered to himself. He had made "the pledge" at some point this morning. The thought of having a drink made his stomach twist in protest. Better judgement, however, was warranted in the future.
After a few moments of concentrating on taking slow breathes in and out, the nausea retreated to a controllable distance. Leaning back on the couch, he steadied himself as he carefully sipped from a bottle of water.
My stomach may be able to handle some aspirin he thought. Craig had tried to take something to reduce his throbbing headache, but it hadn't really gone well.
The sound of the doorbell ringing broke the silence he had been cultivating. A normal visitor presses the doorbell and waits for an answer. Whomever was at his door was pushing the button with machine gun fire frequency. The report of the bell was like a crack of a whip.
"What the F-U-C-K!!"
Craig got up quickly, taking a moment to steady himself. A fresh blast of heat hit him as his stomach decided on a back flip that would make a women's gymnastics team proud.
Another quick machine-gun blast from the doorbell. The sadist on his doorstep must have pressed the button half a dozen times.
"I'm coming already!!"
Lurching towards the front door he jobbed his knee hard on the coffee table, knocking over a few of the beer bottles that had been bearing silent witness to Craig's hangover. The sour contents splattered across the table and onto the carpet.
"Fuck!"
He yanked the door open. The cold January air felt good at first until the it hit the clammy sweat on the back of his neck. The front step was vacant.
"What the hell." His eyes searched the landscape around the apartment building. There was nothing out of ordinary. Slamming the door, he walked back inside finding solace on the couch.
The doorbell chimed three times in rapid succession.
"Come on!"
He moved to the door, throwing it open. Empty steps. He slammed the door this time sticking close so he could catch the whomever it was red-handed. This time there was a knock at the door.
"The fucker is diversifying." He muttered.
He threw the door open.
"Caught you this time you mother... Oh, hi Marilyn." He went from angry to embarrassed in a heartbeat.
"Morning Craig." She held her son, Jesse by the scruff of his neck. A mischievous smirk hung at the corners of the boy's mouth. Jesse, as far as Craig was concerned, was some sort of demon spawn, if there was trouble to be found around the apartment building, Jesse was usually at its epicenter. The kid was always going out was way to make trouble for Craig and the other residents of the building.
"What do you say to Craig Jesse?" Marilyn looked exasperated while the boy wriggled and rolled his eyes.
"Ah mom..."
"Don't 'Ah Mom' me!" Marilyn's voice escalated an octave or two to match her annoyance.
"I'm sorry sir." The boy's apology dripped with annoyance. "Can I go now?"
"Why don't you go inside and work on your chores."
"Chores!?!? I have all day to do those!"
"No better time to start then, besides, you want to play that new video game you got for Christmas, right?"
"Yes Mom." Jesse disappeared into the next-door apartment, pausing a moment to make a face at Craig while he was behind his mother's back.
Great, Craig thought, I've been targeted for vengeance by an 8 yr old.
"How was your New Year's Eve Craig?"
Craig liked Marilyn. Apart from her 8 yr old tornado she was a good neighbor. She always said hi but generally kept to herself. The antics of her son had brought them into contact more often lately. Craig didn't mind. Although Marilyn was older, he guessed late 30s to his mid-20s, he found her to be an exciting woman. Something about confident older women had always excited him. Marilyn was no exception.
"It was alright. I over did it though. The pain is real this morning."