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Ubertines 07: She only said, “I love you” in her sleep. (738 hits)

Category: Romance

Rating: 1.76 on 30 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Labels:

Submitted by katy (View user info) at 2007-02-05 23:37:37 EST


Stumbling in drunk at 3:42 am on Tuesday mornings was never the worst thing she did. Sometimes she'd come in soaked from the rain and go straight to bed without even bothering to take off her muddy shoes let alone sopping clothes. Other times the liquids slicking her skin weren't even water.

At least half a dozen times she'd vomited into the sheets while Jim was sleeping. Being awoken with a warm splash of bile, vodka and pineapple juice wasn't even the worst part of those nights. Usually after tossing up her night's efforts she'd crawl into bed and pass out in her own mess. He'd spend the next hour or so fighting around a mumbling, groaning heap of limbs to get the blankets and her clothes replaced.

Tequila left her smelling acrid and preserved in the mornings, like waking up next to a corpse left steeping in formaldehyde except for the breathing. When she went to piss, even the bathroom ended up reeking of Cuervo. It was probably more from the sweat than the urine.

Between drinks, Jacy was lovely. She was smiling and pleasant, honestly so as well, not just for the sake of saving face. She was never one to put on a show for others, preferring to let them see her best and brightest as well as dark and saddest parts as long as it was her. Honesty was best. Jim loved her either way.

When she told Jim she hated him she might have been being honest but he couldn't tell. Slurring and shouting and crying she'd fall to her knees and claim to hate him with every ounce of her soul. Then of course she'd apologize and fall into him, wiping snot and tears and drool on his clothes. She'd refuse his help to the bedroom and they'd struggle together, her crawling, him trying to pick her up or at least prevent her from falling face first into the carpet. These still weren't the worst nights.

Jacy ran a small printing studio with a few other people. They mostly did art posters, small lots of brochures, the odd independent press of a book and things like that. She'd gotten used to working with fine details while wearing sunglasses to ward off the hangover demons. A liquid lunch followed by happy hour before heading home to go out again. Life of the party.

Jim would wait for her most nights, but he had to get up too in the mornings and crashing just before dawn wasn't something he could physically do every day. He slept many nights upright in a chair, waking only when the door smashed a new dent into the wall. He'd reinforced it but it didn't matter.

Most nights she made it home. The majority can't be the worst of everything otherwise hope is beaten too far down to salvage. Jim still had hope in her. Most nights she didn't throw up. Most nights she didn't break things at his feet. Most nights she wasn't lost or wet or smelling like smoke and bad cologne. Most nights she would come in peacefully and crawl into bed. Sometimes they'd make love slowly and gently. She'd pass out in his arms and whisper, "I love you" in a dream. And most nights she truly did love him back.

The other thing Jacy did to alleviate the pain of dredging through her hangovers was coke. Two lines before she hopped in the shower and a line out the door. Not every day though. It even helped clean out the vomit that sometimes managed to dry in her nostrils. She thought it was miles better to have the drip in the back of her throat than the smell of a half digested binge.

Jim found the cut coffee stirrers and credit cards used to powder the little rocks in odd places around the house. She didn't always remember to clean up. He'd dig for the stashes he knew about and flush them. Later when she got home, if she was only mildly buzzed, she'd rummage through the house looking for the morning set up. Not finding any usually resulted in sharp, heavy or fragile items being thrown. They weren't really thrown at Jim, just around him. Close enough to feel the air part and usually catch a piece of whatever it was on the rebound. These weren't the worst nights either.

Jacy went to rehab twice to completion. She stayed clean for 7 months each time. She went a few other times too, even to some self-help groups, a therapist, churches and AA. At one point she thought she found god but realized that it was probably only some really good pot that was laced with something. She'd get bored and the cycle would start again. Each new stint a little more severe than the last as if making up for lost time.

The almost worst nights were sitting up next to her in the hospital. At first they were the normal things you'd expect. She'd fallen down a flight of stairs and broken her wrist and a couple ribs. Tripping in stilettos down grated iron steps in the rain. Then she stepped on a broken wine bottle and needed 14 stitches. Getting worse, a bar fight and a wooden stool to her chest. It broke her collarbone in three places. There were numerous fist-fights as well.

Some of the scarier of these times were when he'd pass out before she got back only to find out when he woke up that she wasn't there. He'd spend a frantic morning trying to find her, calling the local hospitals and police stations. Normally she would come in. Once she turned up at a hospital ending up with pneumonia, twice she ended up at the police station.

Jacy's last night was spent in a hospital. Her liver was finally failing. She'd started drinking when she was 12 so hitting 25 and dying wasn't as much of a surprise as it would be for most people. Most people also don't have hemorrhaging kidneys to deal with. So while her body cannot process anything coming in, it can no longer process anything going out either.

Yellowing with jaundice and bleeding slightly into the hospital gown were the last things Jim saw of Jacy. That was the worst night. He only remembers that she loved him while she was sleeping.


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User Reviews


Submitted by sage104 (user info) at 2008-10-07 11:42:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

No Comment

Submitted by electrictoothsyndrome (user info) at 2007-04-19 11:58:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2

No Comment

Submitted by forthewin (user info) at 2007-02-07 04:07:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

I'm so tired.

Submitted by Lizz_Zero (user info) at 2007-02-07 03:12:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

No Comment

Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2007-02-07 00:31:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

solid.

Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2007-02-06 23:24:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

Nice.

Submitted by MouthSore (user info) at 2007-02-06 22:12:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

No Comment

Submitted by Fungah (user info) at 2007-02-06 20:33:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

I enjoyed this.

Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2007-02-06 20:14:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

Realistic, living nightmares are some of the hardest stories to read.

You did a good job with it.

Submitted by HotWillie (user info) at 2007-02-06 16:59:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

No Comment

Submitted by The_Drake (user info) at 2007-02-06 16:48:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 1

I'd Juice You.

Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2007-02-06 15:50:24 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

Pretty and depressing, like a Thai hooker past her prime.
Well, let's just go with "pretty depressing" and both understand that each of those words is applicable.

I want a drink now.

Submitted by MyTeeOne (user info) at 2007-02-06 15:40:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

Sad and sweet. I hope it isn't autobiogrphical at all.

Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2007-02-06 14:13:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

No Comment

Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-02-06 13:55:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

i'm guessing this is autobiographical, hmm noonie?

Submitted by Anansie (user info) at 2007-02-06 12:35:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

No Comment

Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2007-02-06 11:30:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

No Comment

Submitted by Susie_Derkins (user info) at 2007-02-06 10:23:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

No Comment

Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2007-02-06 08:19:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

Tequila left her smelling acrid and preserved in the mornings, like waking up next to a corpse left steeping in formaldehyde except for the breathing
---
This was a very weak paragraph.


Otherwise excellent.

Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2007-02-06 07:13:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

Blech.

Submitted by LittleMonster (user info) at 2007-02-06 05:26:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

eeeeeeeeeeeeep *sniff*

Submitted by Beano312003 (user info) at 2007-02-06 03:21:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 0

No Comment

Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-02-06 01:37:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 1



Submitted by pandora (user info) at 2007-02-06 01:30:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

I used to drink a lot of Cuervo. That shit gets you high, but man the smell is disgusting. I could detect one drop of it on a sweater and it made me want to vomit.



Submitted by lechuza (user info) at 2007-02-06 00:46:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

I liked this

Submitted by Coyote (user info) at 2007-02-05 23:51:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

Mmmmm, taste the acid-green bile.

Hopefully Jim learned his fucking lesson and won't be such a doormat in the future.

Nosebleeds suck.

Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2007-02-05 23:47:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

Fucking hell, Katy!

This was good, but now I wanna give you a hug. You okay?

Oh, you made it onto my Fuck-Marry-Kill list of Sacrilicious...



Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-02-05 23:47:49 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

Goddamn timestamp.

Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-02-05 23:45:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

Submitted by Stagette (user info) at 2007-02-05 23:47:10 (#)
Ranking: 2

Awww. This spoke straight to my ovaries.

Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-02-05 23:43:23 EST (#)
Ranking: 2


Most nights she made it home. The majority can't be the worst of everything otherwise hope is beaten too far down to salvage. Jim still had hope in her. Most nights she didn't throw up. Most nights she didn't break things at his feet. Most nights she wasn't lost or wet or smelling like smoke and bad cologne. Most nights she would come in peacefully and crawl into bed. Sometimes they'd make love slowly and gently. She'd pass out in his arms and whisper, "I love you" in a dream. And most nights she truly did love him back.

--------

I didn't like this paragraph. The rest was good.


Marge: Name one of your child's friends.

Homer: Uh, let's see, Bart's friends ... Well, there's the fat kid
with the thing; uh, the little wiener whose always got his
hands in his pockets.

Saturdays of Thunder