I woke up groggy, my throat dry, my tongue thick and cracked. I woke up with a pounding headache. I woke up with my face in a pile of my own vomit. I woke up sweating and cold at the same time, in the bathroom on the floor curled around the toilet bowl.

My stomach lurched when I blinked.

Everything heaved again, what was left in my stomach splashed into the bowl. I groaned, spit out what had stuck to my teeth, and felt around for a towel to wipe my face. I couldn't remember the last time I had been this hungover. My vision spun again and I felt my stomach churning as it lined up another lurch of bile.

It had been Mara's idea. A little celebration in my honor, we had both been surprised when I was deemed eligible for graduation. Shocked would be a better word. My guess was no one wanted me in school for another year so they just bumped my grades a little. It wasn't like I had failed the whole four years of high school, just the last bit. Just after I realized everything sucked and there was no point. While my classmates were proudly walking across a stage, fresh diplomas clenched in their hands, I was double-fisting two very expensive bottles of vodka while Mara sucked me off.

I doubted their after-parties had been better than mine.

She had taken us out to a bar where no one checked IDs. Someone she knew had bought a round for the place. We polished off one of the vodka bottles before leaving her apartment. She had a few sips, I had the rest. I didn't remember the rest of the night.

"Jake," Mara's voice cut through the air, my ears rang, "Jake get out of the fucking bathroom, I need to shower."

She pounded on the door and threw it open.

"Fuck me," she snorted with laughter, "Can't even fucking handle your liquor. God, you're such a child. You even missed the fucking toilet. You just can't do anything right, can you?"

I kept my focus on the floor, my only hope to keep my stomach contents where they belonged. Mara sighed and tossed me a towel.

"Wipe that shit up and get out," I could almost hear her eyes rolling. I did as I was told but ended up smearing the puke around more than cleaning it up. It was drying on my face; the smell of it was mixed with everything from the previous night. Smoke, beer, whiskey, vodka, whatever else I had poured down my throat.

Towel in hand I slunk past Mara and just made it to the kitchen sink before I had to puke again. Just liquid. Excess alcohol, stomach lining, hopefully, nothing important. I rinsed it away and left the puke-covered towel on the counter. Mara could yell at me later.

Stumbling to the bed I collapsed onto and closed my eyes, maybe I could fall asleep and wake up not feeling like shit. The bed was incredibly comfortable, sucking me into its pillowy warmth and for a moment the room stopped spinning.

But only for a moment.

"Get up, you lazy fucker," Mara scolded, "You have work today, in case you've forgotten."

I groaned again. Fuck, I had completely forgotten.

She laughed and started shuffling through drawers, I sat up slowly and watched her get dressed. She shimmied into a pair of jeans, pulled a tank top over her naked breasts, and rolled her eyes at me.

"I can drop you off if you're ready to go in ten," she said over her shoulder walking back to the bathroom.

For the first time that morning, I glanced at the clock.

"Fuck," I muttered, wondering if that was really the correct time. It couldn't be nearly three in the afternoon. My cell phone had the same time. Shit, I must have been really fucked up to have slept the whole day away. My shift didn't start for another half hour, plenty of time to get to work, plenty of time to puke.

I ran back to the sink and just made it before my stomach decided to empty again. It was going to be a very long day.

Mara strode out of the bathroom, looking ready to conquer the world. I looked like something had hit me, then backed up over me to make sure I was really dead.

"Ready?" she asked, her voice too chipper for the hour.

I glared at her, chugged down a glass of water, and leaned against the counter.

"Why the fuck do you care?"

"Because someone has to," she said impatiently, her foot tapping.

"And you just decided to take on that burden?"

"I know, I'm such a great person."

"Yeah and I'm stone-cold sober and not a fucking failure."

"Come on, I don't have time for this, Jake," she started towards the door, "If you want a ride, get your ass in gear."

She fucking owned me that was the real reason. I was her toy, her fucking doll she could tote around and pretend she was fixing me.

I followed her out anyway. I wasn't going to pass up a free ride. It was a silent ride, short thankfully. She sped off when I staggered out of the car, no backward glances, no good-bye wave, no nothing. I wasn't really expecting anything, but it would have been nice. It was hot out, the sun had been relentless for the past week, and some radio station said it had been the hottest June in years. I could believe that. My back started to sweat in the short distance from the curb into the store.

Or maybe that was just the liquor seeping out.

The door chimed as I opened it and was instantly blasted by a shock of cooled air. The pulsing in my head lessened with the cold. I took a deep breath, it could be worse. I could be at home with Mara.

"Fuck, about time you got here," Dale sighed an animated sigh of relief from his position behind the counter. "I am fucking done with this place today."

"I'm not even late, dude," I laughed and waited as he clocked out before clocking in.

"Yeah, but I need to get out. This place is driving me coo-coo."

"You've had like what, all of two people come in?"

"And everyone who comes in earlier than four is fucking batshit crazy," he shook his head, "I had to clean up some fucking guy's shit. He took a fucking dump near the coolers. Fuck, I am not paid enough to deal with that shit."

I just laughed; perks of working in a cheap liquor store were the stories the morning shift guys told.

"Fuck you, man," Dale shook his head and headed out the door. He paused before leaving, "Oh yeah, got a shipment coming in around five."

"Thanks."

This was the slowest part of the day; at least from what I had learned in the week, I'd been working. The alcoholics came in the morning. The partiers came in at night. Not much happened in the middle of the day unless it was a lost middle-aged Dad looking to get a few more wine coolers for an afternoon BBQ, no one came in. It was a simple job and there were a few locations in the store where the cameras didn't point.

Dale had pointed them out my first day on the job saying that taking a few bottles here and there was totally cool, no one would know. The owner had four stores to worry about and this one was the least of his worries. It made just enough money to come out above the red, I still wasn't entirely sure why he kept it open. It wasn't like the clients were so wonderful that he would feel bad about shutting them off, most of them had lived on the streets for years, if not their whole lives. It was understandable why they would want to drown everything in an alcohol-induced haze.

I could relate.

Drinking on the job wasn't really okay, but as Dale had said, what the boss didn't know, didn't hurt. And he rarely showed up. I hadn't even met him yet. I just talked a few minutes with him on the phone for the job interview. Dale had shown me the rest, just happy to have someone to take a few more shifts from him.

Dale had broken into a six-pack and left the remaining two cans behind the counter. He must have been feeling very generous, usually, he'd take it all with him.

My stomach churned with the thought of another drink. The sweet, acidic sour taste of bile rose in my throat; I swallowed it and grabbed a Gatorade instead. I could take the cheap beer home and a bottle of whiskey. I'd be okay by then. The pounding in my head had lessened. My stomach felt a little calmer by the time I drained the bottle.

The hours passed incredibly slowly, as they always did. A few people came in grabbed a few bottles or case of beer, paid and left. The delivery came in, I stocked the new stuff, tossed the cardboard in the trash and went back to standing behind the counter.

I was flipping through the pages of a magazine when two more customers came in. They didn't look like the normal homeless; they were a little bit cleaner, a little more aware of their surroundings. The two men walked and went directly to the rum bottles in the first aisle rather than stumbling around desperately searching for something under five dollars. They took their sweet time picking out a bottle, from the top shelf, and started mumbling to each other.

"Well, fuck, I dunno," the smaller, darker man muttered angrily.

I stopped flipping pages so I could listen better.

"That's what I'm sayin', they are weak muthafuckers now," the other man said quietly. I was straining to hear what they were saying. It was rare that two cohesive people where in the store.

"Axel's smart, he got something up his sleeve, they just biding their time."

"Nah, they are broken. Dog is in jail, the other two pets ain't far behind 'im. And ain't you heard? Axel's got a seriously crazy bitch on his hands." The big man grabbed for a bottle and examined the label, "Bench says she's breakin' down, like gone coo-coo batshit crazy."

"Why you been talkin' to that man?"

"He looking for an out, figures if he rats to us we'll take 'im. He's no dummy, he can see they are fallin' apart. It's only a matter of time before they really do fall."

The short man was quiet for a moment and grabbed some bottles. They walked to the counter in silence, each with five bottles of Bacardi. Looked like a party.

I tried to pretend I hadn't heard their conversation, hoping they wouldn't notice I had been eavesdropping. They didn't. Instead, they just slammed the bottles on the counter and waited for me to ring them up. They handed me cash, I gave them their change and they left without another word.

Wondering what they had been talking about, I found my stomach was settled enough for a drink to look appealing. I cracked open one of the cans Dale had left behind the counter and took a tentative sip, it went down smooth, so I gulped down a mouthful and finally felt like myself again. There were a few hours remaining on my shift, but it didn't look like anyone else was coming in, a good time for me to stock up on some supplies.

Shifting some bottles around I grabbed a few off the shelf and slid them onto the corner where the camera didn't hit. It was pretty easy to take what you needed, the owner didn't care, the other employees encouraged it. I didn't see anything wrong with it.

Yeah, but you should.

The thought crossed my mind. Why the fuck should I? Not like it made a huge difference, I wasn't taking shit from a mom and pap store, this fucker had other stores and never came to this one.

You are a good person.

My inner monologue tried to lecture. Had my shoulder angel decided to give it another go? It was a few months too late.

The last of my shift slipped by slowly, I skimmed through a few more magazines, rang out a few more customers out and finally was allowed to close up. Another simple job, turn off lights, check locks, take out the trash, set the alarm, lock the front door, leave. I didn't really get the point of an alarm system, it was a shit hole area the alarm wasn't going to stop anyone, but the boss man liked to have it.

Mara wasn't parked at the curb like she said she'd be. I checked my new prepaid phone. I had to beg Mara to lend me the money for it. I'd be able to pay her back as soon as my first paycheck came in. No messages.

She'd probably gone out with friends and forgot about me. I sighed and dug out one of the vodka bottles from my jacket. Pulling off the cap I took a swig and started back to Mara's house. It was cool the chill of the summer night felt good. The empty road was silent except for the dim buzz of streetlights. A gunshot tore through the silence, the echoing boom fading quickly. I picked up my pace and dipped my head low, but I felt myself smile.