Wake Up Call

It was close to five in the morning when Jacob finally woke up. His head still ringing from the alcohol. Oh what a concoction it was. They say not to mix grape and grain but you never really know what they're talking about until the morning after. The very early morning in this case.

He sat on the edge of the bed. Hauling his body up took most of the strength he had left. Why was he still doing this to himself? Hadn't he suffered enough? The way he treated his own body was positively medieval. No, that's not right. In the middle ages they at least executed you quickly. This torture was years, decades of work.

No matter how much he shook his head he couldn't seem to right the ship. The spinning of the room still now as violent as when he fell semi conscious onto the bed. He paid hundreds of dollars a night, every night, for what? A luxurious king size bed he never slipped under the covers of. Hell, with this level of self abuse the cold tile of the bathroom floor was often more comfort than the most expensive of hotel beds.

He shut his eyes to gain his center. For a moment it was ok. He felt that if he could stay in the dark he may be able to get to his feet. The mind wanted it but the legs, almost half a century old now, were no longer up to the task. He crashed to the ground and somehow ended up falling on the remains of a once surely enticing piece of chocolate cake. How did cake end up on the carpet? He didn’t even like cake. It shouldn’t be here. Sweet intruder, you’re not welcome. He was more of a savory sort of fellow but even the thought of any food, let alone the feel of it squished against his bare arm and the floor, made him positively ill. He had fallen but as ever, there was little feeling. His eyes stayed closed and he lay quiet for a moment. Eventually things settled. The storm had calmed but he would stay here for a while longer. If you don’t stick your head up it can’t get cut off. Or you can’t fall over again. Either way, he thought laying low in the literal sense was a good move for now. Ugh, the smell of that icing. Why was it even in here and why wasn’t it a cigarette he was lying on? Now a cigarette, that’s something that would actually be quite welcome.

The phone rang muffled between his leg and the carpet. One, two, three rings. Just stop. Five AM. Who calls at five am? Reaching for his phone, eyes still closed as tightly as he could, he fished around in his front pocket. Bingo. Pulling the phone out he prepared for the terrible shock of opening his eyes. One, two.. wait. One, two... hold on, just a few deep breaths. Maybe he could stay here, lying on the floor. STOP RINGING! Maybe he could just disappear. If he tried hard enough, closed his eyes tight enough, maybe he could just sink into the carpet.

No. He had to see who called. This may be why he was here after all. The phone rang again. His eyes still closed, he fumbled to answer. With a press of a button the ringing stopped. He turned his head and placed the phone on his cheek just before his arm gave out.

There was nothing, every second of silence that passed like rocks in the pockets of a drowning man. Nothing. He mumbled something. Not even a "hello" more of grunt. Then he heard them.

Those two words again, like a nail through the ear. The phone went dead. Now his eyes were finally open.