Story Time: Mrs. Stephens 5

I flexed my hand a bit while hot water ran down my arm.  Tiny rivers ran along the scar, down, and to the tips of my fingers before falling to the bottom of the shower.   Like a phantom memory, the pain of the blade impaling my arm pulsed.  Doctors said there was nerve damage and I’d probably feel it for the rest of my life.  I rotated my forearm to look at the scar left on the other side as the blade penetrated all the way through.  Stupid luck had saved me that day.  The two bones in my forearm twisted with the impact and squeezed the blade hard enough to bend the thin metal.  This effectively pinned the cheep knife between the bones, and prevented Jane from striking again  before being subdued.   Again, fire shot up my arm with the twist.  It wasn’t screaming pain, but it persisted, a constant dull fire radiating uncomfortably up my arm until I wouldn’t be able to take it anymore.  Eventually I’d take a Vicodin or Percocet if it was really bad.  With one last shake I threw the thought of calling it an early night out of my head.  I turned off the water and got out, dried off, then wrapped the towel around my waist as I walked over to the bedroom.

All set in bumming attire, I descended the stairs and grabbed the pizza.  I didn’t even bother with a plate before grabbing a slice and taking a bite.  The cheese was still hot, but not enough to burn.  I always hated burning the top of my mouth and not being able to properly taste anything for a few days.  I held the slice in my mouth and the pizza box with my left hand.  I went to the kitchen and grabbed a short glass.   With a second thought, I put it back, and grabbed a tall glass instead.   I set it down, and opened the fridge.   I grabbed the lemon juice and put it on the counter.  I closed the door with my bare foot and kicked open my lazy Susan to grab the honey.  I must have looked like a scene from Cocktail as I put in a dash of lemon, a squeeze of honey, then some Jim Beam in the glass.   I shrugged, and put some more Jim Beam in the glass with a smirk on my stuffed mouth.  The tea kettle had just started to whistle when I grabbed it.  I poured hot water into the mix.  I set it down and picked up the now hot glass.  I could tell by the color already that it was perfect.  Pizza, Baseball, and a Honey Bourbon Hot Toddy were just what my body needed right now.

I set the pizza box on the coffee table in front of my barcalounger, took a sizable chunk out of my slice of pizza, and set it on top of the box.  I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.  The Rockies Pre-Game show was already on and I listened as they talked about the vaulted pitchers duel that was about to go on today.   I brought my drink to my lips and took a careful sip from the very top.   It was just a little too hot.  I avoided burning myself and set it down.   It would be ready in a bit.  My arm throbbed some more.  I flexed it a few times while massaging the muscles and tendons.   Sometimes that helped, but today it didn’t seem to have much affect.   It wasn’t too bad yet, I looked at my drink, then at my arm.  If I decided to drink and later wanted to take a medication I’d be a hot mess before the night was through.  I thought some more and again my mind went to Jane.  Like the scar on my skin, she’d marked me forever.  I’d always have a reminder of what she’d done.  I’d always feel this pain.  No, I thought.  Not tonight,  I wasn’t going to take a medication and fall asleep.  This was my night, and I was going to enjoy it.  The pain would have to go away with the assistance of alcohol.  Jane wasn’t getting the best of me.  I blew on the top of the glass and took a small, but determined drink.   I’d made my decision.  Tonight was about me.