there had been another, and another after that.Then things got a little hazy. Luckily, she’d managed to set her alarm before going out; otherwise she probably wouldn’t have woken up in time for her shift.
Near the foot of the bed, wagging his tail, was Steve, Heidi’s large Lab mix. When he saw her looking at him, he started wagging his whole body and came around near the side of the bed where he could get closer. Heidi yawned.
“Steve…,” she said, and made a halfhearted attempt to pat his head. At the sound of his name, Steve’s ears pricked up. “How’s about you making me breakfast for a change?” she asked.
Steve wagged on.
“Nothing fancy,” said Heidi, beginning to wake up a little more. She yawned. “Eggs Benedict, a little freshly squeezed OJ, and above all some coffee.”
For a moment Steve stared at her attentively, waiting, but when nothing more happened he turned once in a circle and lay down beside the bed. Heidi just watched him.
“I’ll take that as a polite fuck you,” she finally said.
She untangled herself the rest of the way from the blankets, stepped out of bed, and stumbled toward the bathroom. Halfway there, she stopped and steadied herself against the wall.
God, she was hungover. She really shouldn’t be drinking like that—not a smart idea in any case, considering that this time last year she’d been far from clean. And if it hadn’t been for Whitey she probably would have lost her job, and then where would she be? She’d hated him when he’d placed the call and forced her to check in to the clinic. She had said some pretty unforgivable things, but she was grateful now. No, she had to be careful—one drink too many and then who knew what she’d do?
She waited for a minute for the throbbing to relax a little before continuing along.
The bathroom was less distinctive than the bedroom, though a WXKB bumper sticker had been stuck to the top of the toilet tank.The sink was littered with brushes and parts of several makeup kits, a hair dryer balanced precariously on a towel bar. Heidi approached the mirror reluctantly, apprehensively. Her dark eye makeup was smudged and smeared.
“Jesus, Steve,” she said. “I’m a fucking raccoon.”
Hearing his name the dog slowly padded into the bathroom. He stared expectantly at her.
“Why didn’t you tell me I forgot to take off my makeup?” she asked him.
When Steve tilted his head in confusion, she shooed him out and shut the door. She sat on the toilet, leaned her head against the cool porcelain of the sink next to her, and gave a little groan. Her head really hurt. No, she had to stop telling herself she’d just have one little drink. One drink was never one drink anymore. Peeing, she stared at the side of the tub, her eyes slowly losing focus, and a moment later, she found herself beginning to slip off. No sleeping on the toilet , she told herself. Sleeping on the toilet bad. How late had it been when she’d gotten in? Three? Four? Too late in any case, especially when she had to work the next day.
She was already starting to lose herself in her thoughts again, her eyes beginning to blur and sleep threatening to come. She lifted her head away from the sink and then reached over and turned on the water, splashed some in her face. It was cold enough to make her catch her breath. There, that ought to do it , she thought. But a minute later, her eyes were blurring again. She needed more sleep. But there wasn’t time. She needed coffee, then, something to perk her up, something to make her feel better.
And when she thought that, something to make her feel better , she had a brief flash of the needle pushing in her arm again. The way it had felt back when she used to use, when she’d draw back just a little and watch her blood drift into the cylinder and then depress the plunger and tear the tourniquet off. The way it would hit her all in a rush, all at once, and how much better that made her feel. The way itfelt to