Blood on Blood

TWO

Mick

I woke up to the tinny buzz from an alarm clock that was already old at the turn of the century. It took every ounce of self-control not to smash the piece of junk, which didn’t leave much discipline left over when it came to not hitting the snooze button. Thankfully, that function was one of the things, along with the radio, that didn’t work.

I pushed the off button, slid the covers back and sat on the edge of the bed. Cool air wafted across my bare feet and I shivered. This was the only way I knew I’d get up and not go back to sleep. Sheer unpleasantness, first thing in the morning.

I cast a quick look over my shoulder, wondering if I’d see her huddled form on the other side of the small bed, even though the truth was I could already sense that she was gone. Sure enough, not even an impression on the pillow where her head had rested, however briefly.

Figures.

After a minute or so, I stumbled the rest of the way out of bed and across the hall to the bathroom. The harsh light forced me to squint while I used the toilet, then splashed a little cold water on my face. In the mirror, my hair was tweaked by sleep. Two or three days growth of thick beard made my face look dirty, which was fine. I’d felt dirty for a long time now. Might as well look the part.

“Enough with the self-pity,” I told my reflection. “It’s a sin.”

Then I had to chuckle, just a little bit. You grow up Irish Catholic, pretty much everything is a sin, so that’s a pretty easy cushion to fall back on.

I cleared my sinuses, spit in the sink and rinsed it down.

Just go run, I told myself. You’ll feel better.

I returned to the small bedroom and flipped on the light. It only took another minute or two for me to slip on some sweats, a pair of battered running shoes and a Blackhawks watch cap.

Locking the apartment door behind me, I took the three flights down with my knees high, warming the muscles. At the bottom of the stairs, I stretched for a few minutes in the tiny foyer next to the mailboxes. Sometimes it smelled like vomit or piss, but this morning I got lucky. The super had mopped it out and the harsh smell of lemon and pine filled my lungs.

Warmed up, I slipped out the door into the cold darkness, and I ran.