X stirs with a yawn. Grabbing the bottle of wine, she swallows until her giddy state returns before going into the bathroom finding Herbie in the sink holding a tiny brown turd in his paws. Narrowing her eyes at him, he throws the turd in the air and sits there with a grin on his face. You little shit. Splashing him with water, she picks him up and threatens to put him in the toaster. Plopping him on the kitchen counter instead, she goes through the cupboards until she finds an old biscuit tin. Emptying it of junk, she grabs the flyers and bills from the hallway and rips them to pieces. Scattering them about the tin, she fetches some empty toilet rolls and places them inside along with a yoghurt pot full of fresh water. Picking him up, she holds him at eye level. If you quit your silly business, I’ll buy you a proper home tomorrow, but for now, this will have to do. Or you can choose the toaster? Showing him the toaster, Herbie looks at her and licks the finger wrapped around his belly. Thought so. Placing him in his temporary abode, she has some more wine before taking out a bag of pasta and rustling up something to eat. She’s not that hungry but knows if she doesn’t eat, the wine will knock her out for the rest of the day. Any other day that wouldn’t be a problem, but she feels today isn’t like any other. She wants to go out again. Someplace where there’s trees and a lack of people so that she may be closer to that something she’s not quite sure of but of which she can feel like the goosebumps that have been with her ever since she stepped foot in her apartment. Taking Herbie and his biscuit tin into her room, she places him on her bed with strict instructions not to move. Otherwise, it’s the toaster. Fetching him a carrot, she lets him give it a sniff. Happy with what he finds, he bites into it and takes it with him into one of the toilet rolls. Opening her wardrobe, she picks a new dress to wear and slips it over her shoulders. It’s black and short enough to show the tattoos on the tops of her legs. She doesn’t bother with knickers. Nor socks, either. Just some ballet pumps and a band she uses to tie her locks back with. Finishing the last of the wine, she looks in on Herbie and then at the photo of him. Inching towards it, she picks it up not unaware of the faint tingle in her fingers and toes as his eyes gaze into hers. Tucking it into her pocket, she makes sure she’s got her smokes and keys before heading out the door.
A Journal for Damned Lovers UK
Author S. K. Nicholas 
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