Hanging

At first, I thought, was just hungover, or still drunk. I felt... funny.

I opened my eyes and She was standing over me. Ready to give a lecture, no doubt. I mean, she arranged the whole thing, but that's her whole M.O. Get upset about things she had no need or right to get upset about.

My tongue felt like a rug, too big for the space it had been shoehorned into. Thick and dry and furry. Ugh.

Even though it was the last thing I had an inclination to do, I felt my mouth rearrange into a smile.

Auto response? An evolutionary one? Head off the inevitable attack. It makes sense, right? Why else would I be grinning at her like a massive idiot?

Her voice seemed to get to me through a thick fog. I had to concentrate hard to make out the actual words, and I really couldn't be bothered to do that. She'd ask questions, though, just to make sure I'd been listening, so maybe I should try.

Ugh. Just how much had l had to drink last night? Didi have anything else? I must have. That must be what this is. Maybe someone spiked my drink. You know. For a laugh.

I wanted to shake away the fuzzy feeling hanging around my head, but I couldn't do it.

Panicking, positive the interrogation would begin any moment, I tried to snap my focus back on Her.

There was no lecture. Only concern, and coffee, and "I'll be right back" with a side of "do you want some eggs?"

I didn't. I couldn't think of anything worse. Having to go down into the bright kitchen and eat food. Even thinking about the smell was making me nauseous.

So why were my feet swinging over the edge of the bed? She was tidying up, but she wasn't tutting or rolling her eyes while she did it. There was something furtive, almost embarassed about her movements. Like I was a guest and she hadn't had time to vacuum.

In any case, much as this attitude was a welcome change of pace, I still wanted to snap at her to piss off and leave me alone,

The strangest thing... It was like someone had snipped at all the nerves and things that connected my brain to my mouth. It flapped up and down, but I had no say in what was going on.

She steered me to the kitchen, as if I hadn't lived here as long as she had. Served up eggs, which made me feel like I wanted to heave, just like I knew they would...

But I didn't heave. I watched my hands move, watched them cut up my food and bring it to my face. I tried to keep my mouth closed, but I had no part in that either.

Something else was in charge of my body. Moving my limbs, commanding my stomach.

What was going on? What was wrong with me? How long was it going to last?