Overcome with nausea, Luke dropped the phone, flung off his duvet and staggered over to the sink in the corner of his squalid bedsit. As he went to vomit, he fleetingly caught sight of his face in the mirror and his reflection confirmed he'd got a black eye. He didn't vomit much, perhaps on account of the fact that he hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon, but he continued to gag and retch.
Luke rinsed his mouth from the tap and winced as he splashed water on his face. He took another glance in the mirror and momentarily studied his purple, swollen eye. "Fuck this, I need a drink", he said aloud.
He hated going out in this state - physically fragile, fearful of the consequences of what he may have done the night before and conscious of his unkempt appearance; but he needed that drink and fortunately found a £20 note in his wallet. As usual he left the door to his room unlocked, reasoning that he had nothing worth nicking, and made his way down the corridor to the building's front door. He put the door on the latch and furtively crossed the street.
It was a bright, sunny day and already warm outside. Luke squinted; he had absolutely no desire to stay in the sun which, seemed overwhelming and oppressive. He considered that his aversion to daylight was almost vampirical, which led him to very briefly ponder the possibility he was quite literally a bloodthirsty predator of the night. He visualised his razor sharp teeth penetrating a buxom maiden's neck, slurping greedily as he gorged himself on her blood, it trickling down his chin and onto his shirt. 'Maybe that's how I got blood on my shirt?', he thought. 'No. That's just fucking silly. Why do I always get weird thoughts when I'm like this?' Thankfully, the shop was only a couple of hundred metres across the street from the house and these thoughts quickly vanished as he entered to the sound of a little bell's tinkle.
The shopkeeper gave Luke a look of disdain as he entered the premises. He bore an uncanny resemblance to Rigsby from Rising Damp, the old Seventies comedy, and hence that's how Luke referred to him. He made his way over to the alcohol and selected a bottle of red wine with a screw cap, an important detail. He then paused and intensely surveyed the rest of the shop's wares; he didn't want to forget anything. He picked up an egg sandwich, a packet of cheese and onion crisps and a two litre bottle of sparkling water. 'Better get a few beers for later, too' he thought, as he made his way over to the fridge.
There was a middle-aged lady at the counter. Rigsby loved a captive audience, somebody to listen to him moan. "It never used to be like this around here", he said in an exasperated tone, "it's all these bloody students!" Feigning sympathy, the woman nodded. It was obvious she was in a hurry, but Rigsby was oblivious to her need for haste. "Just look what they've done to my shop!", he exclaimed, waving his hand theatrically. Luke glanced up and saw the window on the far side of the shop was boarded up. He felt a twinge of anxiety. 'That wasn't me, was it? After all, it would explain my hand.' Again he felt a wave of nausea, and for a second he thought he would vomit again, but it quickly subsided. 'It would explain my hand, but what about my eye?', he thought. The woman finally lifted the carrier bag off the till. 'Thank heavens!'
"You look like you came off second best!", Rigby said with a smirk as he rang up the till. Luke mumbled something about falling down the stairs. "That's the story you're sticking to, is it?" Unwilling to muster a reply, Luke handed him the £20 note and held his hand out for the change; it was shaking. Inevitably, Rigsby made some more comments about it being a bit early for drinking, but Luke wasn't really listening. 'Mission accomplished!', he thought, thrusting the change into his pocket, before swiftly exiting the shop.
Luke's heart pounded and his legs quivered ever so slightly, as he hastened his way back to his dingy room. He dumped the blue carrier bag onto his bed sans the wine bottle, from which he'd already taken a few swigs on his way down the corridor. He felt a huge sense of relief.
Locating the only clean glass in his cupboard, Luke made himself a spritzer; half wine, half water and downed it in seconds, finishing it off with a loud slurp. It quenched his thirst, but more importantly he began to feel calm as he felt the comforting effects of the alcohol begin to take hold, like a warm embrace. He took another few gulps from the bottle before devouring his food. Lying back on his bed he drank the rest of the wine from the bottle and, as The Stranglers' Golden Brown played on his stereo, he stretched out on the bed and relaxed.
To be continued...
