Confessions by Cycy Smith

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To Paul

How are you, you bastard? Wouldn't know would I? Too hard to call, to write? Not even a fucking postcard for old times' sake? Whatever. I don't care. Love me, hate me. It's all the same. Just don't you dare ignore me. Don't you dare. You better read this. No scrumpling it up, no binning it. These are my confessions Paul you need to hear them. You got that? Read it. I dare you.

Know what I did yesterday? Course you don't you arse. You left didn't you? How the hell would you know? You're not here anymore. Well listen up coz I'm gonna tell you. You wanna understand me? Wanna know where it all went wrong? Not communicative enough for you? Well the brick walls down now, mate. All my secrets are here for you tonight, little black worms on this nice, clean sheet of paper. Just waiting to be read.

Anyway back to the story, back to the point if there is one somewhere in this darkness, in this spew from my shattered brain. Yesterday. Three weeks after you left me. Woke up with a hangover, nothing unusual, nothing new. Self-medication to take away the pain. And Kelly was there, crashed out on the sofa, so it must have been a pretty wild night. Lord only knows what we did, I certainly had no idea. It was around two when I woke up but it wasn't till four that I finally stumbled into the bathroom, driven out of bed by my aching bladder, despite my aching head. The bathroom was a right mess, vomit all in the sink and the toilet and quite a bit on the floor, but I wasn't in much of a state to care and that bathroom never smells that nice anyway. Since I was now up I decided I might as well go the whole hog and actually managed to get myself dressed. Tried to make some brunch but no food in the house of course and did you really have to take the kettle with you when you left? So I went out, to the local heart attack store, otherwise known as MacDonald's. Grabbed some chips and a couple of Big Macs but by the time I made it back to the house Kelly'd disappeared so I ate them both myself. I was just finishing them off when the phone rang, making my already fragile brain feel like it might explode. I picked it up mainly to make it stop ringing and goddamn it if it wasn't Frank. My boss. Or my ex-boss as I should say because he was ringing me up to give me the bad news. So sorry Lisa but we have to let you go...letting the team down...poor attendance, poor attitude, blahblahblah. Like I care, like some horrible little job selling extra-large t-shirts to overweight housewives really makes me feel like getting up in the morning.

Actually I did care, just a little. Anyway it made an already shitty day even worse and by this point there really didn't seem to be much sense in bothering with the rest of the day so I went back to bed. I'd only been up around four hours but I could see nothing good was gonna happen so I thought I might as well just go back to bed. Or that was the plan anyway. See the craziest thing happened; I couldn't get back to sleep. Now you know me, I can get up after sleeping twenty hours straight, drink something, and then go straight back to sleep again.

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