No Different

Thursday’s light, poking through the gap in her bedroom curtains, insisted that it was a beautiful day and that Katherine should get up, so she did. The floor was a mess of scattered CD cases, ashtrays, dirty glasses and socks way overdue a stay in the laundry basket. Flinging back the duvet, she sat up too quickly and unlocked a flashing kaleidoscope of colours, blooming and shattering before her vision.

“Urrgh.”

It was one of those delayed hangovers, the kind that tricked you into thinking everything was fine until the Morning After. S**t, she couldn’t even remember the Night Before so it seemed a little unfair to be punished - like a body-snatcher borrowing your form for the night and handing the thing back to you, wretched and wrung-out, once all the fun was over.

Hovering in time, between bed-warmth and the headaches to come, Katherine took a blurry look around. Some nameless fuckwit was lying next to her; all she could tell from the back of his head was that he needed to wash his hair. Christ, who was he? She poked the soft flesh of his shoulder.

“Hey, er…you. Did we go Jewel last night?”

The bloke didn’t turn round, merely mumbled something into her pillow.

“What?”

He breathed in deep, like talking required immense effort, and exhaled the word: “Dancing.”

Katherine was annoyed by his attitude; this guy clearly woke up in strangers’ beds a lot. “Right, arsehole, sleep time’s over.” She whipped back the covers, letting them drop to the floor. “Who the f**k are you, do I even know you?”

He grunted, “F*****g women!” and rolled over to face her.

She didn’t recognise him. He was unshaven and scruffy; looked vaguely criminal. Thus, Katherine knew they’d definitely done it. Sucker for a slice of danger.

“So what happened, where’d we meet?” she demanded. “At Jewel?”

“Nah,” he said. “After that. In the taxi after.”

Katherine’s hand shot to her mouth and she giggled. “Oh my god, are you the f*****g taxi driver?”

“Nah,” he exhaled again. “Dealer.” Hands clasped behind his head, track marks in the crook of his elbow. “Fetch the blow, love. I need to wake-up. Mental night!”

She got to her feet unsteadily; had to clutch at the dresser when her left leg gave way.

“Cheers, love,” the guy rasped. “And pass the duvet up, would ya?”

Wordlessly, Katherine trailed from bedroom to kitchen, peeling a long T-shirt from a discarded pile of clothes and pulling it on. The kitchen had been blitzed; sideboards cluttered with aluminium food containers, empty bottles and crumpled cigarette packets; the table marred by stains – curry sauce or booze, she couldn’t tell – and evidence. She found a fresh pack of f**s, lit up and stared at the small white mound, the curled £20 note, the baggies nesting on top of his leather jacket.

Crazy scene.

She wouldn’t take him any; he could get up off his arse and come through if he wanted it that badly. Katherine fixed herself a line. She hadn’t noticed how raw both nostrils felt until now, but so what. Sniff sniff. She hated how it sounded afterwards, like she didn’t know how to use a tissue.

There were some cold chips piled on a plate. She picked one up, bit the end off and then had to spit it out in the sink. Took another drag of the cigarette. Who needs to eat? F**k scientists. F**k doctors. Had she ever fucked a doctor? Maybe. F**k you, Mum. Had she ever…no, pack it in - don’t be weird. Don’t be sick. Good point…was she…?

Rushing to the bathroom; nothing but dry heaves. Must have been something wrong with that chip [or the vodka champagne tequila absinthe weed speed coke…ssshhh]. Oh no: the other end. She always seemed to be shitting liquid, spending half her life on the bloody loo. Annoying. Could have been the Ex-Lax, downed half a dozen at some point yesterday…no, it’s the drink - why so many calories in alcohol? Mean world.

Plop.

Katherine giggled at the noise, then cringed a little as machine-gun farts of excrement decorated the white porcelain below. “Gross.”

Eventually, it calmed down back there and she was able to wipe. Reached for more toilet-roll; thick brown smears across her hand. She gagged –

“F**k!”

- then laughed it off. Life could be a s****y business sometimes. Yes, philosophy, even in these moments. The door was ajar and her Neanderthal bedfellow clomped past.

“That f*****g stinks, Kate.”

“Piss off.”

  She could hear him attacking the stash on the dining table.

“Get your own!” she yelled, half-laughing. “I paid for that.”

“No you didn’t.”

It shouldn’t surprise her, she never carried much cash on a night out.

“How much do I owe you then?”

“Shag and a bonus.”

She stood up, flushed and let the lid fall. “You’ve had your shag.”

“State you were in? Doesn’t count, love. I’m not into neck-a…neck-o-phobia, whatever it’s called…banging dead b*****s.”

“Necrophilia.”

“That’s the one. Probably.”

The woman in the mirror looked ill; Katherine splashed her face with water and avoided eye contact. Drying her hands and face, she called out, “So what’s the bonus?”

“Dunno.”

“Well, you better think fast because I’m kicking you out in about ten seconds.”

“Alright…um…a goodbye kiss at the door?”

“It’s a bit late for romance but yeah, sure. Why not?”

Topless, he grabbed the leather jacket and shrugged it on, stuffing his various bags into the inside pockets. “And a free one of these?” he asked, grabbing a bottle of champagne by its neck.

“Yeah,” she shrugged.

“You look rough,” he said, grinning. “Might wanna take a holiday from the clubs.”

He grabbed her hand and headed for the door, champagne bottle held aloft in vague triumph. “Ready?”

“Yeah, yeah, pucker up.”

It was a pretty quiet street so she wasn’t too bothered about opening the door in only a T-shirt. He swung it open, hurriedly pulled her lips towards his…and the world erupted in a demented chorus of bright lights and “Kate! Kate!”

Katherine involuntarily shielded her eyes.

“Don’t hide, Kate. Give ‘em a wave, darling,” her dealer said, still clutching her hand and pretending to guzzle from the bottle. “This is gonna make me for life.”

“Get off me, you b*****d!” she shrieked, struggling to twist free of his grip so she could dart back behind the door. He didn’t let go, held her captive under the judgmental scrutiny of about twenty lenses, thirty pairs of eyes…and tomorrow, a nation.

“You tipped them off, didn’t you?”

“Course I f*****g did. Story’s gonna earn me about ten times what that coke’s worth.”

The T-shirt had felt longer when Katherine first put it on; now she desperately tugged at it, to stretch it past the tops of her slender thighs.

He yanked her hand to his face, kissed it for the cameras and then, finally, released her, striding forth purposefully into the loud circle of questions. Katherine staggered back into her apartment and slammed the door, sliding each of its three security locks into place. Hands shaking.

“WANKER!” she screamed at the kitchen.

A minute later, Kate shuffled over to the table and stared at the mound.

Two minutes later she made a smiley face out of its diminished remains.

 

Author's Note

Damn, this started out as an idea for a story that showed celebrities to be mere people [sort-of-theme being "wipe their arses same as us, don't they?"] - but I got tangled up in the side-story.
Sigh, never mind. Let me know what you think. Thanks.

Reviews

[Dezaraye]

Wow ... reading things like this make me really glad of a few things. 1- That I don't drink. 2- That I never got into drugs. 3- That I am not famous!

I liked how real it is and that you have such good dialogue. I agree with what Anthony said, you kept the dialogue real to how people really speak. We rarely speak like walking dictionaries outside of very formal settings and even then we still stutter at times.

[Tony]

So from the Author's Note we can assume that this was another case of good intentions gone astray, for the pleasure of the distraction? Kind of like the twisted lives of these characters?
I have no problem seeing the portrayal of all men putting on trousers one leg at a time. Thus, your intent is served.
Here's the thing, C.:
Getting tangled up in the side story, or presenting the sick realities of life, is your forte'.
Don't cage that animal.
A. Morningstar below mentioned your dialogue, I will too:
Your characters live by the dialogue you give them, and I don't want to know any of them.
But I sure do like to read the diseased creatures.

[Anthony Morningstar]

Well I liked it nonetheless. I liked the diaolouge mostly. the f**k up in it neck a phobia. That's great. I really don't like how people write peoples dialouge like they write. Most people I know write a lot better then talk. There's a lot of uhs an such and that's a perfect example of such a thing.

[Hedra Helix]

dig it dude, I didnt see that Kate was KATE till the end either but your story was well paced to get me there.
I love the poo explosion.

[Emily B]

I didn't get that she was famous, until the end.Thought she was just normal every day Kate. I like the "wipe their arses same as us" idea.