• Linda Nygard

Hangover Cure

Updated: Aug 22, 2019

He looked at her with a combination of fear, jealousy, lust and hate. The sight of her boiled his blood. He seethed. His pulse quickened and pounded in his head. The pain he felt increased with every breath. Beads of sweat dripped onto his brow and pooled into his eyes. His vision blurred and repeatedly popped out of focus.

Was this just another one of his episodes or was he truly mad? A week without sleep, he would bolster himself with stimulants and vodka. So much so, that he was at the tipping point of his sanity.

She came home late the previous night and smelled of alcohol and heavy cologne.

“What’s that smell?” He demanded.

“What you talkin about?” She snapped.

“You smell like cheap ol’ man cologne. Only way is if you were rubbing on some rich guy.”

“I’m not listening to this!” She yelled as she slammed the bedroom door behind her and turned the lock.

He knew she had been up to no good. Every night she went out with “the girls” and would return home three sheets to the wind. Come morning she would avoid all contact with him with the excuse that she was hungover.

Still awake with bloodshot eyes he pounded on the door. “Open up!”

“Leave me alone” She moaned.

“Tell me. I know you fucked someone. Tell me!” He ranted and raved and salivated like a rabid bulldog.

She wretched as she made her way past him to the kitchen. Everything about him stunk. His old clothing hung off of his filthy skin.

“Why won’t you tell me. You know I know.”

His delusion increased with each waking moment. Sleep was elusive and unwarranted.

She came out of the kitchen with a bottle of water and aspirin. “Don’t even!” She snapped “I need to sleep. So leave it!” She slammed the bedroom door. This time she did not lock it.

He paced back and forth in front of her door. His uncontrollable jealousy coursed through him while his mind raced and obsessed. He wrung his hands and mumbled to himself. He sat down on the couch, pulled a small plastic bag out of his pant pocket and dumped some of contents on to the coffee table. He mashed the white powder with a spoon and snorted it with a rolled up dollar bill. The powder stung the back of his nostrils and throat.

He stood up and walked to the garage, found the toolbox and returned to her bedroom door. He slowly turned the knob and quietly cracked the door open. She was asleep on the bed, her open bathrobe revealed naked skin.

He set the toolbox down and opened the rusty latch.

He pulled a cordless drill out of the box and installed the largest bit. The drill whirred when he pressed on the trigger. It was fully charged.

“No more hangovers for you” He whispered, as he placed the drill bit onto the center of her forehead.

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