7 Days in November, Part 11 (Sunday)

Bourbon heard the basement door open, but he didn’t care enough to check it out. His headache was slowly going away, but his body continued to resist and tuned in its notice it wasn’t going to cooperate with him for the rest of the night. He sighed and rolled over, sending acute shocks through his body, and faced the doorway. He closed his eyes, and the pain in his head attacked again. He opened his eyes slowly.

“Hey,” he mumbled to the short figure in the doorway.

“Hi,” Furball said. “How’re you?”

Bourbon worked out, “…feel like crap.” He rolled on to his back and draped his arm over his eyes.

“Can I sit down?”

“Sure.” Bourbon listened to Furball pull a chair up beside the bed.

“Are you OK?”

Bourbon muffled a groan. “Not really. Kinda have this thing called a ‘hangover’.”

“I know what a hangover is.”

“Have you had one?”

Furball shifted in his chair. “Nope. Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s inexperience…”

“I don’t need to have one to know I don’t want one.”

Bourbon lifted his arm from his eyes and looked at Furball. The cat leaned forward in his chair, his hands resting between his legs. He watched Bourbon intently, like he was trying to solve an ever-changing puzzle.

“They told me about last night,” the calico said.

Bourbon cringed. “You talked to them?”

Furball nodded.

“Are they mad?”

“Oh yeah. They keep talking about The Promise.”

“Fuck… what have I done?”

“You made a mistake.”

“I did,” Bourbon whimpered.

“You didn’t have to.”

Bourbon grunted. “I didn’t think I was going to. I thought I knew what was going on. They seemed really happy to see me, and they hated me six months ago. Everything seemed OK. I’m not sure what made me go drink with them. I don’t even like them anymore. I didn’t like being mean to Bryan and Ty and Farly.”

“But you were. You could have left.”

Bourbon eyed Furball from the corner of his eye. “I thought things were going to be different. I mean, before Ty and everybody came down, they were being really cool, and they were interested in me.”

Furball rested his elbows on his knees and propped up his chin. “I heard they left you in the middle of the road.”

“I don’t remember.” Bourbon sighed and scrubbed his face. “I dunno. I thought that maybe they wanted me for me, and that I could be their friend again. I should have left.” He let out another whimper. “I… I fucked up everything…”

Bourbon rolled away from Furball. His headache was coming back and he felt like throwing up again. He began to tear up. He heard Furball leave his chair and crawl on to the bed, barely making a dent in the mattress. He rubbed Bourbon’s arm.

“That’s not true,” Furball said. Hesitantly, he leaned down and hugged Bourbon.

“Why aren’t you mad at me?” Bourbon asked.

“I am.”

Bourbon turned and pulled Furball into his arms. Furball snuggled in, and they sat in the quiet of Bourbon’s room for a moment.

“Bourbon,” Furball said, struggling in Bourbon hug, “I have to go…”

“Please don’t.”

“I have to.”

Bourbon let the cat go and sat back. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“I know.” Furball climbed off the bed. “But you’ll be OK.” He disappeared into the hallway.

Bourbon was alone.

He sighed and hugged himself. The clock on the night stand told him it was almost dinnertime. He wasn’t hungry. He lay down and stared at the clock until the numbers blurred and went away.