I didn’t sleep, just flew around all night. I couldn’t go back to Julie’s house, didn’t want to risk the cops finding out who I was. After breaking the Fantastics out it was just too dangerous. Stopped some minor crime that night, but I couldn't focus.
I shouldn’t have called 911 from my cell phone, shouldn’t have left the roses, shouldn’t have walked through the blood. Fingerprints, footprints, my cell number, the police would come asking questions. None of it really mattered, Julie dead, I was alone. Besides, what prison could hold me?
Got home as the sun came up, watched some TV, showered, couldn’t sleep, I didn’t even try. I had to go to work, what day was it? Wednesday. Shit, I missed two days without calling in. At least the boss was on my side, he’d help cover for me.
I went into work a mess. Purple bags under my eyes, vision hazy, couldn’t focus. I had to act as normal as possible. Co-workers gave me a hard time, they made jokes about where I was.
“What happens in Vegas, right?” elbow nudge.
“So what? She keep you up,” pelvis thrusting “alllll niiight?”
“Anime convention?” Wink. “It’s cool lots of people are into Furries.”
I was not amused, “Grandmother died” was my excuse. At least it shut them up.
Boss was a no call, no show. Unusual for him and shitty, I could have used someone to talk to. Went straight to the bar after work, I should have been looking for her killer.
Seven beers and two shots later. “Who am I? Fuckin’ CSI? I’m no detective.” I said to no one.
The bartender cocked a brow, “Think you’ve had enough? You got a ride home pal?”
I scoffed, “Pssshh, I’ll fly.”
“Drunk asshole.” Bartender left me alone after that.
I left two beers later. Flew home, damaged an overpass and destroyed two billboards on the way. Flying drunk is harder than driving.
Fell asleep with my head in the toilet, puking and crying.