Chapter 5
MARILYN
My hangover has a hangover.
I wake up to a dull glow in my bedroom, the sun setting around the edges of my closed curtains. In my quilted, white, four-poster bed, I roll over for the fourth time since this morning, searching for the shrill noise, struggling not to lose last night’s dinner when I glance over at the little dark demon that’s awakened me.
The throw-away cell I had to buy a week ago after my first one went “missing.” Which, in my still-drunk mind, is screaming its head off.
My alarm shrieks from atop my oak nightstand, pulling my attention, and I slap at the small round square, picking it up as the blue-white light shines in my direction.
I squint, staring at the screen, wondering just what the hell I was thinking of drinking so much that I’ve been in an
