That Ridge Would Fall

Nellie woke up on the floor, a pillow made of laminated magazine covers and book spines was under her head. Something was in her back, digging into her sacrum and making her writhe, it was the corner of the pizza box with the couch cushions toppled over onto her. She rolled over and pushed everything off.

A migraine tore through her skull and temporarily stalled her moment, she massaged her temples and sat up slowly. The concealer on her face was ruined by all the tears she had shed the night before. It's not just a dream, is it? She still couldn't believe the realization of it all.

That little piece of heaven, of rapture, of eternity was supposed to be hers to hold on to. It was all so tangible, in her hands like a child's plaything, and she could hold it close to her.

Wait.

She looked at her satchel from across the room, and slowly crawled to get it. Along the way she found a bottle of Ibuprofen and that bottle of whiskey, quickly downing it with three pills. Saffron silk, it was tangled around her ankles, she wondered why her nightgown was in the living room anyway. From that one hook-up maybe, when that French guy took her home from the rathskeller Tuesday night of last week.

He was nothing though. A nice guy, absolutely a nice guy, but he was colorless, lacking so much personality that Nellie almost kicked him out. But they were both so lonely, searching souls, just supposedly looking for the warmth found in someone's arms. Anyone's arms. She let him stay the night, they didn't do much but kiss and strip each other down to near exposure. No personality equals no pleasure or gluttony. When he left the next morning they didn't say goodbye or exchange a friendly gesture, he just, left.

Nellie made it to her satchel and opened it, digging out her gun and her badge. She switched the gun to its safety mode and put both the badge and the gun into a thin drawer in the side table.

A sigh brushed past her lips and she ran her tongue across her teeth, clearing away the vegetable chunks left between them from the pizza. Her hair smelled like garbage and her morning breath wasn't nice either. She slowly rose from the titian floor and walked to the bathroom where she removed her clothes until stark naked. Nellie stuck a foot in the bath after warming the water to her liking and adding a few bath beads.

She lowered herself into a jasmine abyss, it smelled lovely, and the way the steam rose to the windows was calming. Nellie held her breath and sank into the crevasse, her eyes closed and her mind whirling with thoughts. It sounded like the inside of a seashell underneath the water. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

I am nobody, she thought.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

I won't have to worry, she thought.

Whoosh, whoosh, gurgle.

Her lungs burned and she could feel them shriveling. Maybe if she didn't smoke so much she would've been able to hold her breath longer. But the burning sensation felt good, pain was good, life without pain would be meaningless, we're all meant to be hurt.

Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle.

Nellie's hands were shaking, she curled her small toes in tight until she felt tiny pin pricks in her feet. Her fists beat the bottom of the bath tub nervously. Was this what it had come to? Suicide? Her situation hadn't been that serious, but she was making it out to be so much more extreme then it should have been.

Gurgle, gurgle, blow.

She whipped her head out of the water and gasped for air as she clung to the side of the bath tub. The migraine was much worse now and it felt as if her bronchi was being flogged by rawhide. Needles prodded her skin, in and out and in and out, over and over. She lost the feeling in her feet and her palms were teeming with blood because her nails were grating her skin to scraps.

Granules were floating in the air, Nellie's breath caught in her throat as she watched them dance on the cavalcades of light beaming through the window.

The phone rang and Nellie slipped getting out of the bath tub, but quickly put a towel on and ran for the telephone. The number and caller's name were both unknown, but regardless, Nellie answered the phone in her raspy, aching voice.

“This is Nellie speaking. May I ask who this is?” she asked, balancing a bloody hand on her hip.

“What are you wearing right now?” a gravelly voice replied.

Her no-end eyes were wide, she was too surprised to admit how frightened she was by the aroused utterance. “Who is this?” Her diligence was waning away, much like her energy, she had no willingness to continue the conversation, so she didn't see the point in why she responded.

“You don't remember me?”

“Am I supposed to?”

“You should.” There was something sly and bizarre about his tone. She knew that much, that the person was a male.

“I'm not sure what this is about.”

“I think you know.”

“Look, bud, I am a–cop. If you don't tell me who you are in about 3 seconds there will be some repercussions.” Her threats seemed to phase the man, she could sense his heavy breathing and his discomfiture over the line.

“I'm sorry. This is Astor.” His reply came quick, like a horror movie on fast forward. She felt so in charge.

“Who the hell is Astor? Do I even know you?”

“Last week. Remember? Tuesday of last week? I took you home from the pub, short blonde hair, about 6 foot 2, freckles?”

That's what his name was. Astor sure is a funny name, she thought to herself, chuckling with the telephone pressed to her ear. How could she not have recognized that heavy timbre? It was so strong that she could barely make out what he was saying over the phone, his foreign tongue fading in and out across the line.

“How did you get my number, Astor?” she asks, pushing aside some books to have a seat on the sofa.

“You don't remember? I guess I'd gotten you too drunk.” Yes, too drunk on brown ale. She remembered that perfectly.

“Ha.” She hung up the telephone and walked back into the bathroom, a grin on her face. “Horny bastard.”