Scott
rolled from his side, coughing and hacking as he tried to clear his parched
throat. Looking with a bloodshot eye blearily around the room, he heaved a sigh
as he caught sight of a shapely thigh half draped over his lower half,
connected to a bass guitarist whose name he couldn’t quite remember at the
moment, as it felt like miners were trying to crack open his skull as if it
were the second gold rush. Lifting her thigh from his midsection, he swung his
own legs over the side of the bed and raised his body up to a half sitting
position, fumbling for his glasses on the nightstand. Scratching his back as he
slipped his glasses on, Scott looked around the room in disgust.
His
grandfather had died a very rich man with very few relatives, a few estranged
nephews and an odd cousin or two were all that had showed up to the rainy
funeral, the dismal little day leading to a long drinking binge for Scott as he
did his best to honor his grandfather’s memory by wiping it from his mind.
Kicking over an empty bourbon bottle on the wooden floor, Scott rose to his
feet slowly, stretching out the kinks in his body as he made his way to the
bathroom.
The
large house had been his grandfather’s crowning achievement, a three bedroom
mansion set atop a hill in the lush hill country of Texas, where he’d spent his
days studying various little research projects that interested the old man in
his twilight years. While Scott had yet to explore the majority of the house,
he’d become well acquainted with the wine cellar and the kitchen, along with
the halls leading to the main bedroom, where he’d brought girl after girl from
the local bars for a string of one-night stands.
Scott
smiled at that, opening the door to the bathroom and padding over the tile from
the wood, finding the toilet to relieve himself.
“What
would Mom say if she saw me now?” Scott mused as he urinated, taking only a
mild interest in where his stream landed. “Getting drunk every night, playing
guitar in dive bars, hooking up with farmer’s daughters… I bet she’d have a
fit!”
Dear
old Mother was not a figure that Scott had gotten along with during her
lifetime. A raging alcoholic Catholic, she’d forced religion upon him at a
young age, and incited his father to beat him whenever there was a slight
against her, real or imagined. Scott had made peace with his father’s violent
past, though he’d never really been able to let go of his mother’s indifferent
attitude towards the abuse.
Clearing
his throat, Scott flushed the toilet before moving over to the exquisite marble
sinks, he rubbed at the uneven growth on his face while examining himself in
the mirror. Looking at his skinny frame and short cropped black hair, Scott
mused over the fates that had been thrust upon him at birth; while not overly
ugly in any way, he was far from a teenage idol. Looking at his sunken eyes and
narrow cheeks, he looked like a freshly risen zombie that was strongly
reconsidering the deed. His frame was lithe and scrawny, though he’d lately
been doing his best to try and remedy this through a regimen of yoga and weight
lifting. So far the result had been a slightly more toned walking corpse.
“Hope
in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man…”
Scott mused as he thought of the body he longer for, and the lengths that he
had been taking to get it.
All
for her.
Jessica
Samson. A local barmaid that was a beauty beyond compare. Too beautiful for
Scott to approach in his current state of being. And so he visited other bars,
and other clubs; playing music with a few other musicians he’d found via
Craigslist, bedding any girl that got drunk enough to see past Scott’s pallid appearance
and more at his musical ability.
“Eh,
what does Nietzsche know anyway…?” Scott grumbled, reaching into his medicine
cabinet for a bottle of aspirin. Popping three of the large white pills from
the plastic container, he chased them down with a fistful of water from the
sink, sighing as he felt them settle in his stomach.
A
stirring noise from the other room caught Scott’s attention. “Ah, what’s-her-name
must be waking up… wonder what the reaction will be this time?”
Strolling
out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom, still naked, Scott smiled down
at the blonde haired woman supine in his bed, the sheets tussled over her
glorious body, hiding just the beginning of a small tattoo on the small of her
back. Cracking her eyes open, she blinked a few times before she could focus on
Scott, who merely smiled. Then she flinched back at his grin.
“Good
morning!” He smiled, reaching down to pull a spare sheet from the floor to wrap
around his lower half. “Now that the coyote ugly has occurred, this would be
the time when you vamoose! Your keys should be in the ceramic bowl by the door.
Try not to let the door hit you on the way out.”
“Oh
my god, what did I drink last night…?” The woman asked as she propped herself
up on her elbow.
“A
bottle of bourbon here, four tequila shots downstairs, an indeterminate amount
of beer at the bar, and I have a sneaking suspicion you sampled some of my
favorite wine from the fridge when I wasn’t looking.”
“Oh
god, my head feels like it’s in a vice…” She whined, holding up an arm over her
eyes, the sheet dropping low enough to reveal a bare breast.
Scott
smiled grimly as he thrust the bottle of aspirin her way, clearing his throat. “You
can cover yourself, if you’d like. I have a feeling your panties are around
here somewhere…”
“No,
I remember you tore them off me…” The woman replied with a heavy sigh as she
snatched the bottle from Scott’s hand.
“Really?
The weightlifting is paying off then.” Scott mused, walking over to his closet
to pull out a fresh tee shirt for the day ahead, as well as last night’s jeans.
Dressing swiftly as he listening to the woman gripe and moan about her head,
Scott pulled on his pants, buckling the belt in place before looking back at
the woman. “So what’s your name?”
The
woman shot him an evil glare. “Wow, real subtle there…”
Scott
shrugged. “I think subtlety left the room the moment we did what we did to each
other. I must say you are a remarkably flexible girl for someone so involved in
a band.”
She
flushed, looking over the side of the bed and fishing up her Led Zeppelin shirt,
pulling it over her head. “My name is Sonya asshole… what’s your name?”
“Scott,
Scott Winthrope.” Scott replied, eyeing her as she dressed from behind the
cover of the sheets. “Your pants are by the door I think.”
“Then
grab them for me!”
“The
front door, I mean.” Scott clarified, a hint of amusement crossing his
features.
“Not
a word…” Sonya growled, eyeing him from the confines of the bed.
Scott
smiled, pantomiming a zipper being dragged across his lips before turning and
walking out of the room and down the hall.
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