Page 139 of Fight or Flight
Why am I picturing a cartoon bunny holding a giant meat cleaver like some sort of serial killer? And why do I keep seeing the female mains from the Archie comics twirling butterfly knives like they’re batons?
Slowly, I roll onto my back and take stock of my body. My head is pounding, and my stomach is queasy, but other than some wicked dry mouth and crazy dry eyes, I feel okay. As far as I can tell, I’m not hurt at all, and I’m alone in my bed and stillwearing my underwear, so I probably didn’t get up to anything beyond than getting fucked up and crawling into bed so I could pass out.
But how did I get back to the house? There’s no way I could have walked home, not if I was blackout drunk. Did someone drive me? That would explain the vague memory of a black car that keeps popping into my head, but it doesn’t explain why I’m seeing the car in a secluded lot surrounded by trees.
Whatever. It’s probably not an actual memory, and my brain is just trying to fill in the blanks. I’m sure someone gave me a lift back, and I’m just making shit up because I don’t remember what really happened.
My head protests as I roll it to the side to check my bedside table, and I’m surprised to see my phone plugged in.
That’s weird. I barely remember to plug it in on a regular night.
Moving slowly to make sure I don’t make my head or stomach worse, I push myself up into a sitting position and look around my room.
The only thing that’s even remotely out of place is the way my clothes are draped over my desk chair and not piled on the seat like they usually are after a night of drinking, but that’s it.
The queasy feeling in my stomach settles a bit, and I carefully lean over and unplug my phone so I can check the time and my notifications.
“Fuck,” I mutter when I see my lock screen.
At least drunk me remembered to put my phone on silent last night, because I have half a dozen texts and three missed calls.
The texts are from guys in the house, but the calls are from my mom, and knowing her, she’ll keep trying until I answer.
Hastily, I open my texts so I can let her know everything is fine.
Shane: I just saw your calls
Shane: I was out with the guys last night and it’s a bit of a rough morning
Shane: is it okay if I call you back when I’m a little more awake?
She reads the texts before I have a chance to exit out of the thread, and a little bubble pops up as she answers.
Mom: Of course. Thanks for letting me know everything is okay. You know how I am lol
Mom: I’m glad you had fun
I shake my head at the line of emoji she added to the end of her message. She only does that when she’s having a good day, and some of the hollow feeling in my stomach lessens.
I send back a smiling face and the heart emoji, then flip to my text thread with Paxton. He’s sent me a couple of videos. Hopefully those will help fill in some of the blanks from the night. The thumbnails for them are too dark to make out any details about what might be on them, and I click on the first one.
“What the fuck?” I ask my phone as the video starts playing.
It’s shaky and dark, and the angle is off, so I can’t see anyone’s faces, but there’s no mistaking what’s on my screen.
Jace is standing beside me as we face off with someone, but that’s not the part I can’t look away from.
That would be how Jace is casually spinning a butterfly knife like some sort of serial killer.
My face flushes hot as memories from the night I got up close and personal with that knife flood back to me, but there’s something about the video that’s also triggering a different memory.
“I know it’s going to be a good night when I get a chance to show Betty off.”
Did I have a conversation with Jace about his knife being named Betty? That explains the weird visual I got of the comic book character playing with butterfly knives.
The video stops playing, and I click on the next one.
It’s even darker, and just as shaky, but this one seems to have been taken through a window and zoomed in, so the image is fuzzy and disjointed as the camera tries to keep focused in the dark lighting.
