Eddie wakes up already in a bad mood. Heās got a raging headache thatās pulsingĀ directlyĀ above his left eyeball andĀ someoneĀ next door is singing Madonna loud enough to wake the dead. He groans, rolling over and burying his head under a wayward pillow in a desperate bid to muffle the absolute monster next door. Instead, the blender kicks on and somehow āĀ somehowĀ ā the singing manages to get even louder.
Fuck, heās not going to be able to go back to sleep, is he? And itāsā yep, right on schedule, six am on the dot.
He stays like that through the first, second, and third verses ofĀ Like a Virgin, gnashing his teeth under the blankets until they ache. When the blender cuts off, heĀ thinksĀ that he might get lucky enough to get a reprieve, but instead, the playlist shifts to Whitney Houston and he completely gives up on going back to sleep.
Eddie feels like heās moving through molasses as he stumbles his way into the kitchen, making immediately for the bottle of Advil sitting on the counter and downing two with water straight from the tap. He presses his aching forehead to the cool metal faucet, willing his skull to stop throbbing in time to the beat ofĀ I Wanna Dance With Somebody.
He reaches for the tub of shitty grocery brand coffee and rustles up a clean spoon to scoop out the grounds, onlyā
Eddie frowns, peering down into the tub in disbelief.Ā
Completely and utterly empty, with only the barest remnants of grounds clinging to the sides of the container.Ā
As if mocking him, he hears Steveās voice, as if from afar, asking so very sweetly, āDontcha wanna dance?ā
āNo, I donāt want to fucking dance,ā Eddie mutters, flinging the spoon back into the sink. It backfires when the clatter of metal on metal causes another spike of pain to shoot through his head.
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