alcala0001
06-02-2011, 04:52 PM
Balls. What is that god-awful noise? And why does my head feel like an elephant is playing soccer with it? And that smell. Sour and bitter. Curdled. I open my eyes and the world is a dozen times brighter and noisier than it needs to be. I manage to sit up and swing my legs over the bed. This isn't right. I just sit there and hold my head in my hands, elbows on my knees, and wait for the world to come to a complete stop before I open my eyes again. This is my room. How did I get here? I find the source of the smell. Apparently I got sick all over myself. And it's on my bed too. I guess there will be laundry to do later. What the hell happened? I strip off my shirt and my jeans, clumsily kicking them to the corner of my room. I get some shorts out of my dresser and throw them on. A quick piss and an inventory of the house tells me that I am in fact alone and nothing else was disturbed. I must have just went to bed and passed out. But I wasn't even here last night. This makes no sense. I go to the bathroom again to brush my teeth and get that taste out of my mouth. Tastes like a colony of rats was using it as a toilet while I slept.
I grab my pants, careful of the semi-moist vomit that crusts the denim in places. I check my pockets. A phone number - Amanda, apparently. Whoever that is. Maybe I'll call it later if I get bored. I can ask her how big a jerk-off I made of myself. Nothing else in my pocket but a few ATM receipts and a gas station printout. Gas. My car. I walk into a pair of flip-flops and grab my shades as I go out the front door, which is slightly ajar. Holy damn it's bright out here. I'm in my boxers, but I don't even care. The living room clock said 1:12 PM. Damn it. My car is there, skewed sideways in the driveway. I walk up and open the passenger side door and go to sit inside it. The blast of hot air and the smell of fresh-baked vomit stops me and I resist the urge to retch. Not that anything would come up. My entire stomach contents seem to be decorating the front seat, the dashboard and the floor of my Chevelle. I close the door, then open it again, deciding to let it air out. Thats when i see the crack.
A nice big crack in the windshield, running next to the A-pillar on the passenger side. Ugh that sucks. I walk around the front to get a better view at the smudge on it, like something hit it. And then I see the hood. It just looked wrong and as my eye travels down the front of the car I see the damage. The hood's bent and crooked, bowed up and tilted to one side slightly. The bumper seems to be bent up a little bit. Is that... is that BLOOD? There on the chrome, tiny flecks of deep crimson are misted across the grill, the bumper, and even the hood. I kneel down to inspect the damage. The grill is cracked and there are clumps of hair stuck in it. "Morning Joe." I jump out of my skin and shoot up to my feet, making my aching head throb. Gary, the neighbor, is walking up to me. He sees the windshield. His eyes are moving down the hood. "My, my. Looks like you had a little fender bender! Good lord! Is that blood on your car?" Think fast. "Uh. Yea. I hit a deer." Gary eyes me over his glasses, giving me a look like a dad might give his son. "Ooh yea. I've hit a few deer in my time. You should report that right away to your insurance company, get her all fixed up. She's a beauty!" He says, nodding in approval. He compliments my car every chance he gets. "Ok. Thanks Gary. I'm gonna work on her a minute. I kinda want to finish this. Say Hi to Lulu for me." At that, Gary puts on his grin - that guy's always got that grin - "Okie dokie!" and walks back to his manicured lawn and goes back into his house. I'm sure Lulu is making something delicious for him in the kitchen. My stomach turns at the thought of food. Balls, what am I gonna do? Thats no deer. Deer don't have long blonde hair.
After freaking out for a moment, I decide to give that number a call. "Hi, this is Amanda! I can't come to the phone right now! Please leave me a message and I'll get back to you when I can! Bye!" Her voice sounds vaguely familiar. I try a few more times out of desperation, but I don't leave a message. Who else was there? Josh! I remember Josh! I dial his number, not expecting him to answer - this is early for him. So I'm surprised when he picks up. "Yo Joe! Duuuude! You were SMASHED!" I remember why I don't talk to him often. "Hey Josh. Listen, ...what happened? I woke up at home and don't even remember getting here." Laughter in my ear. "Ya dude! You left with some blonde chick. Did you do her?" I don't hear anything else he says. The world suddenly becomes a dream. I lean against my car to catch my balance. Blonde. Like the hair stuck in the grill of my car. He's still talking, so I blurt out a hasty "Ok, gotta go!" into the phone and I hit the off button, shoving it into my pocket. Oh man. I look around, seeing who's watching. Nobody. The street's empty. I don't see any neighbors at their windows. Nothing. Think. What to do?
I pull into my garage, lowering the door behind me. I throw the car doors open and grab a bucket full of soap and some towels. First thing's first. I wash the hood and the window, scrubbing all of the little red splatters off of the silver metallic paint. Satisfied with the hood, I pry it up with a groan and pop of the hinge springs. Poor hood is tweaked pretty good. I get out a work light and hang it under the hood, letting it dangle off the latch. Much better. The engine is harder to see. I can't tell what's blood and what's baked-on engine grime. I shake up some degreaser and some oven cleaner and hold my breath as I spray her down good, a can in each hand. I don't want to risk opening the garage, so, eyes burning, I get back down there with my bucket and scrub brush. I pull the clumps of hair out of the grill and the fan. Jesus. Her hair is in the fan too. Is this that Amanda Chick's hair? Oh man, I think it is! I scrub like my life depends on it - it just might. Finally, four bucket changes later, I'm satisfied. I even jacked up the Chevelle to make sure I had gotten it all. There were a few splatters down by the transmission. How did it get down there?
I sit in my car and I'm hit by a wall of stench. The vomit. Two bucket changes later and the interior is clean enough. A few spritzes of deoderant and the smell is almost completely gone. I decide to check the rest of the car. Nothing but a freshly-used condom. I dispose of that evidence too, not wanting to think too much about it. I go inside, stripping naked on my way to the shower. I stand there like a statue as the hot water turns my skin pink. I can barely feel it. Ok, people saw me with her. Apparently I had sex with her, than hit her with my car? And there's no body. So She must still be out on the side of the road somewhere. The party was forty miles away, two towns over. No telling where she is. Or if they found her. Ok, so my car has hit-and-run damage, that I tried to cover. But it's still there. I hit upon an idea, but I'm not sure its the best idea, so I get out of the shower and think on it while I towel off and get dressed. I don't have any other options. Screw it. Lets do this.
I hop in my Chevelle and hit the garage opener. 'Snick' I throw her into reverse and I back out, half expecting to see police racing to my house, lights blazing. Dusk is coming. I want to do this before it gets dark. I drive to the highway. I need to find the right spot. I don't want anybody but myself involved here. There, that looks perfect. I get on the highway and pull a CD out of the case strapped to my visor. I was changing CDs when I lost control and hit the hill on the side of the highway. It's coming up. A nice, flat - but low - hill that I can hit just hard enough to crumple my front end, hiding the evidence. Then I can take it to be repaired. good luck finding any traces of last night with a grill full of dirt and weeds. Crap. How fast should I hit it? I brace myself, arms tensing on the steering wheel. This car is older than airbags. I hope this doesn't hurt too much! I slam forward and bounce at the same time, the roof slamming against my head, making my head ring. Then I see the earth rolling past me, through showers of dirt and gravel. It happens so slow, but it's over in a flash. I must have blacked out for a second. I'm hanging upside down, held in place by my seatbelt. My neck is bent and my shirt is around my neck, hanging in front of my face. I fumble for the seatbelt and it pops free with a click, dropping me down onto the vinyl roof liner. I hear a whooshing, scraping sound. The engine is off. I didn't mean to roll her. This just gets worse and worse. I manage to kick open the driver's door and I crawl out onto the dirt. I didn't roll too far. Maybe thirty feet. The wheels are still spinning. Looks like I skidded most of the way on the hood. I walk around to survey the damage. There are a few cars stopped in front and behind me, but none of them seems damaged. People are running to me, phones in their ears, asking if I'm ok. I assure them that I'm fine. They tell me help is on the way. Great. I was just supposed to ram the hill. Sirens are coming. A lady behind me screams. I tell her that I'm ok, but she's not screaming at me. I walk around to see what's freaking her out. My trunk is open and there's a woman dangling out of it like a marionette who's strings have been cut. Her hair is covering the mangled mess of her face. Blonde hair.
I grab my pants, careful of the semi-moist vomit that crusts the denim in places. I check my pockets. A phone number - Amanda, apparently. Whoever that is. Maybe I'll call it later if I get bored. I can ask her how big a jerk-off I made of myself. Nothing else in my pocket but a few ATM receipts and a gas station printout. Gas. My car. I walk into a pair of flip-flops and grab my shades as I go out the front door, which is slightly ajar. Holy damn it's bright out here. I'm in my boxers, but I don't even care. The living room clock said 1:12 PM. Damn it. My car is there, skewed sideways in the driveway. I walk up and open the passenger side door and go to sit inside it. The blast of hot air and the smell of fresh-baked vomit stops me and I resist the urge to retch. Not that anything would come up. My entire stomach contents seem to be decorating the front seat, the dashboard and the floor of my Chevelle. I close the door, then open it again, deciding to let it air out. Thats when i see the crack.
A nice big crack in the windshield, running next to the A-pillar on the passenger side. Ugh that sucks. I walk around the front to get a better view at the smudge on it, like something hit it. And then I see the hood. It just looked wrong and as my eye travels down the front of the car I see the damage. The hood's bent and crooked, bowed up and tilted to one side slightly. The bumper seems to be bent up a little bit. Is that... is that BLOOD? There on the chrome, tiny flecks of deep crimson are misted across the grill, the bumper, and even the hood. I kneel down to inspect the damage. The grill is cracked and there are clumps of hair stuck in it. "Morning Joe." I jump out of my skin and shoot up to my feet, making my aching head throb. Gary, the neighbor, is walking up to me. He sees the windshield. His eyes are moving down the hood. "My, my. Looks like you had a little fender bender! Good lord! Is that blood on your car?" Think fast. "Uh. Yea. I hit a deer." Gary eyes me over his glasses, giving me a look like a dad might give his son. "Ooh yea. I've hit a few deer in my time. You should report that right away to your insurance company, get her all fixed up. She's a beauty!" He says, nodding in approval. He compliments my car every chance he gets. "Ok. Thanks Gary. I'm gonna work on her a minute. I kinda want to finish this. Say Hi to Lulu for me." At that, Gary puts on his grin - that guy's always got that grin - "Okie dokie!" and walks back to his manicured lawn and goes back into his house. I'm sure Lulu is making something delicious for him in the kitchen. My stomach turns at the thought of food. Balls, what am I gonna do? Thats no deer. Deer don't have long blonde hair.
After freaking out for a moment, I decide to give that number a call. "Hi, this is Amanda! I can't come to the phone right now! Please leave me a message and I'll get back to you when I can! Bye!" Her voice sounds vaguely familiar. I try a few more times out of desperation, but I don't leave a message. Who else was there? Josh! I remember Josh! I dial his number, not expecting him to answer - this is early for him. So I'm surprised when he picks up. "Yo Joe! Duuuude! You were SMASHED!" I remember why I don't talk to him often. "Hey Josh. Listen, ...what happened? I woke up at home and don't even remember getting here." Laughter in my ear. "Ya dude! You left with some blonde chick. Did you do her?" I don't hear anything else he says. The world suddenly becomes a dream. I lean against my car to catch my balance. Blonde. Like the hair stuck in the grill of my car. He's still talking, so I blurt out a hasty "Ok, gotta go!" into the phone and I hit the off button, shoving it into my pocket. Oh man. I look around, seeing who's watching. Nobody. The street's empty. I don't see any neighbors at their windows. Nothing. Think. What to do?
I pull into my garage, lowering the door behind me. I throw the car doors open and grab a bucket full of soap and some towels. First thing's first. I wash the hood and the window, scrubbing all of the little red splatters off of the silver metallic paint. Satisfied with the hood, I pry it up with a groan and pop of the hinge springs. Poor hood is tweaked pretty good. I get out a work light and hang it under the hood, letting it dangle off the latch. Much better. The engine is harder to see. I can't tell what's blood and what's baked-on engine grime. I shake up some degreaser and some oven cleaner and hold my breath as I spray her down good, a can in each hand. I don't want to risk opening the garage, so, eyes burning, I get back down there with my bucket and scrub brush. I pull the clumps of hair out of the grill and the fan. Jesus. Her hair is in the fan too. Is this that Amanda Chick's hair? Oh man, I think it is! I scrub like my life depends on it - it just might. Finally, four bucket changes later, I'm satisfied. I even jacked up the Chevelle to make sure I had gotten it all. There were a few splatters down by the transmission. How did it get down there?
I sit in my car and I'm hit by a wall of stench. The vomit. Two bucket changes later and the interior is clean enough. A few spritzes of deoderant and the smell is almost completely gone. I decide to check the rest of the car. Nothing but a freshly-used condom. I dispose of that evidence too, not wanting to think too much about it. I go inside, stripping naked on my way to the shower. I stand there like a statue as the hot water turns my skin pink. I can barely feel it. Ok, people saw me with her. Apparently I had sex with her, than hit her with my car? And there's no body. So She must still be out on the side of the road somewhere. The party was forty miles away, two towns over. No telling where she is. Or if they found her. Ok, so my car has hit-and-run damage, that I tried to cover. But it's still there. I hit upon an idea, but I'm not sure its the best idea, so I get out of the shower and think on it while I towel off and get dressed. I don't have any other options. Screw it. Lets do this.
I hop in my Chevelle and hit the garage opener. 'Snick' I throw her into reverse and I back out, half expecting to see police racing to my house, lights blazing. Dusk is coming. I want to do this before it gets dark. I drive to the highway. I need to find the right spot. I don't want anybody but myself involved here. There, that looks perfect. I get on the highway and pull a CD out of the case strapped to my visor. I was changing CDs when I lost control and hit the hill on the side of the highway. It's coming up. A nice, flat - but low - hill that I can hit just hard enough to crumple my front end, hiding the evidence. Then I can take it to be repaired. good luck finding any traces of last night with a grill full of dirt and weeds. Crap. How fast should I hit it? I brace myself, arms tensing on the steering wheel. This car is older than airbags. I hope this doesn't hurt too much! I slam forward and bounce at the same time, the roof slamming against my head, making my head ring. Then I see the earth rolling past me, through showers of dirt and gravel. It happens so slow, but it's over in a flash. I must have blacked out for a second. I'm hanging upside down, held in place by my seatbelt. My neck is bent and my shirt is around my neck, hanging in front of my face. I fumble for the seatbelt and it pops free with a click, dropping me down onto the vinyl roof liner. I hear a whooshing, scraping sound. The engine is off. I didn't mean to roll her. This just gets worse and worse. I manage to kick open the driver's door and I crawl out onto the dirt. I didn't roll too far. Maybe thirty feet. The wheels are still spinning. Looks like I skidded most of the way on the hood. I walk around to survey the damage. There are a few cars stopped in front and behind me, but none of them seems damaged. People are running to me, phones in their ears, asking if I'm ok. I assure them that I'm fine. They tell me help is on the way. Great. I was just supposed to ram the hill. Sirens are coming. A lady behind me screams. I tell her that I'm ok, but she's not screaming at me. I walk around to see what's freaking her out. My trunk is open and there's a woman dangling out of it like a marionette who's strings have been cut. Her hair is covering the mangled mess of her face. Blonde hair.