Carla

Carla woke up in a bad mood. Even with her eye shades over her eyes, she could tell that it was too bright outside. She pushed them up to her forehead, and her head pulsated. She'd forgotten to close the curtains last night, and the sun beams streamed across the bed and her lap, it felt violating. She groaned involuntarily. This hangover had only just begun, and was going to be epic.

Screams from children rang in through the window. Must be playing some damn game, Carla thought. She slid to the side edge of the bed. Her left hand wiped across her face, trying to get her bearings. Her right groped for the lighter and pack of cigarettes she kept on her nightstand. Finding them, she brought them to her chest. Without looking, just by feeling the weight, she could tell she was down to her last smoke. Fuck. I'd better save it for when I really need it. She thought. 

She stood up and pulled the eye shades from off of her head. They'd pushed her hair back, away from her face, and when she's removed them, her hair did not fall back into place. A reminder she needed a shower. Looking down at what she'd slept in, a camisole and panties both from her day before, she sighed at herself. Her night had not gone as she had planned. They never seem to anymore. She felt sadness and self pity rise up in her chest. Before it could hit her throat she had lit her last cigarette and was sucking on the filter hard. Nothing helped Carla squash those sad emotions like nicotine. And nothing made her feel prettier than whiskey, but whiskey was a indulgence for the night, or so her mother had always said.

More screams of children scaring each other helped her resolve to leave her bedroom. She instinctively thought that it might be time to feel the dog, but remembered that her husband had taken Muffy when he'd left the week before. She missed the dog more than she missed him. He'd said that he was leaving her for another woman, a paralegal. But she knew he'd been cheating long before this woman. It was okay, Carla'd been cheating for years as well. The only thing that really pissed her off, was that he's managed to find one who wanted commitment. One who wanted to build a life together. All of her flings had been just that. Flings. Nothing that lasted more than a year. Carla knew that she was lonely. And Carla knew that she hated being alone, having no one else around to help her put up with herself.

Carla walked down her hallway, and into her kitchen. She thought about making coffee, but wasn't sure if her stomach could handle it yet. 

She put her head under the faucet of the kitchen sink, and vomited. Sirens of police cars racing down the street harmonized with her retching. Thank god she'd picked the sink with the garbage disposal. She turned on the water, with her  head still underneath, and let the water ease scalp and hair, let it flow on her neck. The water started to trickle down her spine, and moved away. She used the water to rinse her face, using her hands as cups to bring water to rinse the rest of her hair as well. The pink and white contents of her stomach slowly swam down the drain. I can't keep doing this, she thought.

Water started dripping from her hair onto her shoulders and down her back. She started to feel cold, but lacked the energy to grab something warmer to wear. She took the tea towel hanging from a drawer handle and wrapped it across her shoulders. She turned off the faucet and noticed all of the water she'd gotten on the counters and the floor. Later, she promised herself, though she knew it was a lie.

The sirens were getting louder. Carla checked to make sure her camisole  wasn't transparent from the water, and looked out her kitchen window. Police cars had stopped at her house. An ambulance was parked in her driveway, next to er car. They found my body, about damn time, Carla would have smirked if she'd felt any sense of amusement that she'd expected to feel when this moment arrived. But her head hurt too much, and even her soul felt like it had a hangover. 

Carla moved to the living room, so she could view the scene better. She could see her car's driver side window had been smashed open. No doubt to unlock the door, which was swung open as well. Pictures were being taken of the middle aged blonde, with the gunshot wound to her chest. She wore a camisole and panties. 

Investigators might figure out that she'd been on her way to pick up a pack of cigarettes from the drive-thru smoke shack, when her husband told her he couldn't stand what she'd become, that he disgusted her. When he'd said he was leaving her, for a paralegal, and they were on their way to South America, right after he'd cut off all of his loose ends. Investigators might, or might not. It always depended on who was assigned the case, and if the media demanded answers or not. Carla didn't really care.

She walked away from the window, and wished she hadn't ruined her last cigarette under the water. She wondered if she could call a grocery delivery service to pick up a few cartons for her. Her credit card wouldn't be cancelled for a few days at the least. It's not like she could leave the house. Carla thought, Might as well stock up. Who knows how long I'll be here?