By: Anne Douglas

(c) Anne Douglas 2007, All Rights Reserved

Whoever the hell was leaning on her doorbell was an evil, evil son of a bitch.

“All right, all right, I’m coming.” Karen whispered into the couch cushion that was stuck to her face. The words rung in her head like Sunday Church bells — Oh wait, that was just the doorbell.

Karen groaned as she tried to untangle herself from the couch. Someone had thrown the kitschy crochet square blanket that usually decorated the back of her couch over her at some point, and now it was wound around her bare legs, her toes were caught in the little holes making it twice as difficult to unravel herself. Her hangover, and inability to see anything with her eyes crunched tight against the dim light, made it even more difficult.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand; sure the foul taste in her mouth had to be from what ever rodent had crawled into there and died while she’d been sleeping. Fucking hangover.

The damn doorbell was still buzzing. Was it just her imagination or was it getting louder? She jerked on the cover, finally getting it off her big toe, but her exaggerated, uncoordinated movement lost her the precarious hold she had on the edge of the couch, and she fell to the floor with a teeth jarring thump.

A low, husky voice that sounded as bad off as she felt, came from her left … at least she thought it was her left. “That sounded like it hurt. You okay hun?”

“Unh.” It wasn’t exactly verbalizing a yes, but she’d at least managed to make her grunt sound somewhat positive — that had to count for something, right?

(more…)