Karen was not happy. Something that drunk at the storage space kept muttering, about sobriety being way overrated, kept repeating on her like a hideous but catchy tune. Karen felt like she had never in her life been as sober.
Something that middle-aged nurse had given her. What had she said… Adrenaline? She was so wide-awake. A doctor came in and smiled at her chart before leaving. She was also a whole lot healthier than she’d been in a very long time. And a whole lot more alert and aware…
Sobriety is way overrated.
Her whole life as a hopeless romantic… Caressing ancient wood carvings and imagining she experienced telepathic communication with a storage space that was once a grand old theatre. Falling hopelessly in love with a violent man, a criminal, whose two favorite words were “fuck” and “fugettaboudit.” Who cheated on her with her very best, friends forever, Marie. Whose face had already been hideously scarred by a prior attempt on his life and who finally prompted that effeminate Brit Martin to kill him. Marie… How could she? Yet Karen was still so fixated on her that she imagined she was that cop with a completely different face who showed up with the sweater Karen had made her.
Karen’s new roommate, the one whose leg had been amputated, stirred…though she’d been heavily drugged. “I can’t believe they did this to me!”
Karen fought to remember her name, which some nurse had said. “I’m so sorry, Lydia!”
Lydia’s eyes opened. She looked straight at her. “Just because I splattered some dumb kid all over my windshield.”
Something snapped in Karen, something that felt…permanent. “Fugettaboudit… Fuck you, Lydia!”