Andrew closed the door to his apartment, turned the deadbolt and put on the chain. While Natalie took off her coat and laid it on the nearest chair, she looked around casually, delicately running her finger along his bookshelf. She picked up a small figurine, a wooden carving Andrew had picked up as a souvenir years earlier when he'd visited Bali. The carving was of a woman with a large belly and breasts that pointed outward like helium balloons ready to float away. Natalie let out a sweet laugh as she traced the features of the carved woman.

"Can I use your washroom?"

Andrew set the bag down on the kitchen counter and shed his coat.

"Of course. Just down the hall on the left."

"Thanks."

Natalie made her way through his apartment, not seeming to notice the piles of dirty laundry on the floor, or the books and magazines strewn about. When he heard the bathroom door close and the fan go on, Andrew hurriedly scooped up the soiled clothing and stuffed it into the closet. He made an effort to hide any skin-mags he could see before returning to the kitchen to pour them both a drink.

Ice, this time, he thought. Just a casual drink. Not the desperate plunge into oblivion like so many recent nights. And days for that matter.

It seemed that when he wasn't writing, he was drinking. The thought had crossed his mind whether he might successfully pickle his liver before the Deadline, like that guy in that movie that time. The one about the hooker in Las Vegas. He couldn't remember the title or any of the actors. It was altogether likely he'd been half-cut when he saw it.

"Ahem," Natalie cleared her throat and Andrew looked up. "I hope you don't mind."

She was wearing his Penguins jersey, the black one they used for home games. On the back was the number 87 and the name Crosby. Her legs were bare and her hair was held up loosely with a pen, strands sticking out chaotically.

She drew the pen out, a Bic, and long chestnut-coloured ringlets fell down around her shoulders. Her skin was pale and perfect, her eyes a tapestry of green and gold.

A tiny quiet voice spoke in the back of Andrew's head, asking why on earth this woman was doing what she was so clearly doing, but Andrew ignored it. He accepted wholeheartedly that if this woman were some lunatic, here to have sex with him then rob him, murder him, drug him and steal his kidneys to sell on Craigslist, then he would just have to let her.

He could replace stolen property, become a zombie, go on dialysis as the case may be. But he was not going to turn down a night of consensual sex with a beautiful woman in a Penguins hockey jersey.

It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't responded, unless you might consider staring a response.

"No, not at all."

He handed her a glass.

As Natalie drank, a lock of hair swept down across her face, and she tucked it behind her ear. A reflex, nothing more, but a practiced one. She didn't even stop drinking. The ice tinkled and shifted and reached her lips. She drained the glass and set it down on the counter.

"Would you...?"

Natalie mashed her lips against his, pressing her body up against him. He responded enthusiastically, the little voice in his head now quiet, probably just as excited as he was.

Andrew awoke in the dark. For a fleeting moment, he wondered whether he'd dreamt the whole encounter.

If I did, that's one helluva dream, he thought.

He picked up his phone. 3:45. Christ it's early. Andrew groaned and reached out across his bed.

The sheets were a tangled mass, but that wasn't saying much. They generally were.

Nothing. No Natalie. Nobody. The other side of the bed was cold, and for a moment he really did think he might have dreamt it all.

The urge to urinate was sudden and violent. Andrew lurched out of bed, naked, and made his way to the bathroom. He could see the light shining from underneath the closed door.

Must've forgotten to turn it off, he thought.

He turned the handle and pushed but something was preventing him from entering. Bracing himself and putting his weight into it, he shoved the door open a crack. Whatever had been barricading the door, he could hear it slide down against the other side and come to rest heavily on the floor.

The bathroom light blinded him momentarily and he blinked and squinted. When his vision cleared, he looked in the mirror and saw the reflection of a prone figure.

Natalie. Oh Goddammit...

Andrew pushed hard and squeezed into the bathroom. He bent down and picked up Natalie's head. Foam trailed out of her mouth and nose. She was still wearing his jersey.

"Oh fuck me... Natalie!"

He lightly smacked her cheek. No response.

"Jeezus, Natalie, no... c'mon!"

On the floor next to her was a half empty bottle of whiskey and a totally empty bottle of sleeping pills. Andrew checked her pulse and didn't feel anything. Her body was cold.

Natalie's heart had stopped hours earlier.

Andrew cried. He held her head in his lap for a long time, tears streaming down his face. Of the many outcomes he'd imagined, this wasn't one he'd even remotely considered. He couldn't imagine what would make Natalie seek out some stranger, spend the night with him, then kill herself.

The magnitude of the moment seemed to creep up and wrap its fingers around his throat. Andrew felt out of his depth and totally overwhelmed, and in desperate need of escape.

He reached for the half empty bottle and finished draining it greedily.

The alcohol began to flood through his system, but as the last of that sweet amber trickled down his throat, Andrew knew it wouldn't be enough.

There was one more bottle in the kitchen, and he thought that might get him to where he wanted to be. Carefully, gently, Andrew laid Natalie's head down on the linoleum floor. Closing the door behind him, he headed for the kitchen and sweet oblivion.

The next time Andrew opened his eyes, daylight was streaming in through the window. Reaching for his phone, Andrew faltered as he imagined paramedics rolling their gurney through his apartment, police questioning him about the nature of his relationship with the deceased.

I met her at the liquor store, officer. I think she wanted one last fling before she kicked it.

He pictured the cop gazing at him and trying to figure out why in the hell a woman like Natalie would proposition an unshaven hack writer such as his sorry self.

Andrew started to dial.

9...
1...
Thump!

Andrew froze, his finger suspended over the button on his phone. He looked towards the hall and waited, breathless.

Thump!

There was a tinkling sound and then a loud rip as the shower curtain was torn loose from its metal rings. Another loud thump and Andrew went hurtling across the living room and down the hall. His phone clattered to the floor, forgotten.

Thump!

Andrew grasped the doorknob and paused before opening the bathroom door. The little voice spoke again from the recesses of his fractured mind.

You never pictured her dead.

Why the hell should that matter? he shot back, and turned the knob.

"Natalie?" he said, entering the bathroom slowly.

"Hunnngghhh..."

Andrew flung the door wide.

"Jesus, Natalie?!"

Natalie sat propped against the bathtub, her eyes staring at him with a vacant sort of glaze. She'd wrapped herself in the shower curtain, for what reason Andrew couldn't begin to fathom. He bent down and caught her attention.

"Natalie? It's going to be all right. It's just the drugs... And all the booze you drank. It's wearing off, but you're still pretty fucked up. It's going to be all right though..."

"Hunnngghhh..."

"Jesus," he cursed and help Natalie turn over to face the tub. "You need to throw up, Natalie. You need to get that shit out of your system."

Andrew tried to help her with her own finger but she was too out of it.

"Christ, I'm going to have to do this. OK, Natalie. I'm going to put my finger in your mouth, but don't bite down, all right?"

He reached his hand towards her mouth, and to his surprise she snapped her teeth viciously.

"Oh hell no," he pulled back.

Natalie looked up at him with a sort of emptiness in her eyes, but her expression was pained. She looked sad. After what she'd just been through, Andrew couldn't blame her.

"I'll tell you what. I'll put you to bed, and when you get up I'll make a big pot of coffee. I don't have much in the fridge but we'll worry about food later."

"Hunnngghhh..."

"Yeah, hungover. But you'll recover. Trust me, I've been there a lot lately. C'mon."

Andrew lifted Natalie up and hoisted her into his arms. He carried her to bed and tucked her in.

"Get some rest," he said as he curled up behind her. "It's OK, I'm right here."

Natalie managed a strange lopsided smile, but her eyes were still glazed over. She was really out of it, but Andrew was just relieved that she wasn't... well, dead.