Escort For The Witch - стр. 19
I counted to ten, then leaned over and pulled Eric’s hair.
“What the hell?” came a muffled voice somewhere from the depths of the pillow.
“Sabi, is that you?” Eric asked, not even attempting to lift his head.
“No, not Sabi,” I snapped and froze, waiting for some response. For a couple of minutes, Eric showed no signs of life at all and remained completely motionless, trying to understand who had disturbed his sleep.
“Who?” he mumbled in astonishment.
I couldn’t hold back any longer. The anger that I had carefully contained within me finally burst out. I could most hear the deafening tolling of bells inside my
head. A little more and I would have lunged at Eric with my fists, just to remind him of my existence.
“Damn it! Eric! You don’t even recognize my voice anymore?! Come on, get yourself up and try to remember my name!”
Eric stiffened and slowly lifted his head. There was so much astonishment in his large blue eyes that I involuntarily wondered if my friend was suffering from a split personality disorder. Although, most likely, it was just an effect of prolonged drinking. He sat up on the bed and rubbed his eyes. Clearly, he couldn’t remember who I was. And the sight Eric presented was hardly aesthetically pleasing: dark, thick, overgrown hair sticking out in different directions, a foggy gaze, a split lip, and, apparently, his nose had recently been quite badly bruised. “Goblin-like”
didn’t even begin to cover the shaggy monster standing before me.
“What are you doing here?” Eric whispered hoarsely.
“What am I doing here? You’re asking WHAT I’m doing here? I want to know why the hell you told your sister all that nonsense yesterday?!” I yelled, pacing back and forth.
“Oh…” was all the drunk youngster squeeze out and stared at me expectantly.
“Eric, I didn’t think you were such an idiot and… your lip is split!”
“Back off, Jack,” Eric mumbled and flopped back onto the bed. “But since you’re here, bring me some water.”
Instead of heading straight to the kitchen to help my friend with his hangover, I grabbed his hair again and turned his face towards me. Eric’s eyes showed confusion and bewilderment.
“Jack! Are you out of your mind? That hurts!,” he freed his hair from my grip and, fully back to his senses now, sat up on the bed.
“What do you want?”
“Grab your butt and take it to the bathroom. You have exactly twenty minutes to sober up,” I muttered through gritted teeth and walked to the window to open it.
My head spun slightly when a gust of cool air rushed into the room, dispelling the alcoholic stench that had permeated the walls for days.
Eric glared at me but, without a word, got up and shuffled to the bathroom, barely moving his legs. I watched his slouched figure and shook my head disapprovingly. Since our last meeting, the guy had noticeably deteriorated and now resembled a walking fishing hook. It’s incredible, I saw him not long ago, and I could swear he wasn’t that skinny. And just a few months ago, we went to the gym together to avoid resembling Mr. Cornell Senior’s anti-athletic figure… I thought and glanced at the wall where the old digital clock had always been. It wasn’t there anymore. Apparently, Eric got to it too and smashed it. Cursing quietly, I opened the window wider and left the room to go to the kitchen to find some aspirin for my unfortunate friend. In the kitchen, I accidentally glanced at an old alarm clock standing on the table. The hands on the scratched dial showed eleven-thirty, and there was no hint of the sun outside. What happened to the weather? A quiet, prolonged groan behind me interrupted my thoughts. I turned around quickly. It was Sabrina, and she looked unwell…