The Makeover by Vacirca Vaughn Page B

the floor. 
Swaying, she rubbed her temples.  Her head felt like a ten-ton
helmet.  She shut her eyes and rubbed the stiffness out of her neck. 
    She staggered
out of her bedroom into the living room.  Seeing an unopened bottle of Svedka on the dining table, she smiled as she made her way
to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of orange juice. 
    “I have to
have my O.J. in the morning,” she whispered as she limped back to the living
room. 
    Slumping onto
her soft, leather couch, she groaned as her muscles adjusted to the
cushions.  She twisted off the cap and poured a healthy amount of the
vodka into her glass.  “I wonder if I should be mixing this stuff with the
Grey Goose I’ve been drinking.”  She paused with her glass in midair,
shrugged, then took a gulp.  “Oh well, I don’t think mixing two brands of
vodka will be a problem.”
    As she sipped,
she thought about how comfortable it felt to be sitting on the cool leather of
her sofa in the early-August heat.  It was sweltering in the apartment,
but Phoenix did not have energy to get back up to turn on the air
conditioner.  Sighing she laid back.  “I should sleep on this from
now on.  My fat behind can’t handle another night on the floor.”
    Tears rushed to
her eyes as she thought about her new sleeping quarters—a small corner on her
bedroom floor.  She couldn’t think about sleeping on her bed after what
Cedric had done on it.  Worse, she couldn’t sleep on that bed alone. 
    Her mind
drifted back to the spilled Ambien pills she had
found, scattered near her place on the floor.  She hadn’t taken them since
the previous year, when she’d started developing insomnia.  She had only
taken them for a week before deciding to handle her sudden anxiety- induced
insomnia with relaxation exercises and the occasional glass of wine.  To
see the pills scattered beside her left her baffled.  More than that, she
was afraid to think about what she had planned to do with them in her drunken
haze.  She had an unshakable feeling that God had somehow spared her from
something, something that had to do with her being drunk and depressed, and
taking out an old bottle of sleeping pills.  As a psychologist, she knew
of so many cases of people that gotten depressed and intoxicated, and while
under the influence, performed some impulsive act that permanently injured them
or even led to their death. 
    “Did I try
to…oh God. Would I even—?” She gulped down a little more courage as her stomach
tightened.
    She sat and
sipped and focused.  She needed to remember the details of the previous
night but kept drawing a blank.  She shuddered.  “I don’t remember
anything.  I have no idea.  I don’t think I would have, but
God?  If You’re listening, sorry about whatever I was going to do. 
Thank You for keeping me from doing something I could never take back.”
    She stared at
the glass of liquor in her hand, wondering if she should put it away.  Naw , she wasn’t ready for that.  Instead, she got up
and threw out all prescribed and over-the-counter medications in her medicine
cabinet.
    Just in
case.   
    Taking another
gulp of her morning drink, she longed for that fuzzy feeling in her head that
would ease the fear eating away at her gut.  “No, I am not ready to give
up my friend, Mr. Vodka yet.  And I am going to start sleeping on the
couch, until I can save up enough to get a new bed.”
    When she was
done with her drink, she slammed the glass on the coffee table and poured
herself some more vodka.  “Yep.  I’m going to get me a new bed, then
I can sleep on it again…” 
    Her heavy
eyelids began to droop as she relished the nap that was slowly overtaking
her.  She appreciated her new mid-morning ritual.  Vodka, nap, and
takeout.  After all, she had not slept well in two weeks, ever since her
fiancé had left.  She would sleep for a little while and then—
    The phone began
to ring again.  “Dag!” Phoenix cursed herself