Like old lovers who invariably cause each other nothing but repeated agony, yet continue to couple at near regular intervals, Sadie surrendered to the localized throbbing she knew to be the precursor of yet another cluster headache with diffidence, seeking sanctuary in her darkened bedroom before the pain, quickly taking the shape of a red hot pen, had time to drive itself deep into her eye socket, taking the sight in her right eye with it.
Making a wide swaying motion with her arms, she groped blindly across the inky bedroom she had designed to her own specification and swathed in near perfect tones of strawberry and chartreuse- once upon a time- well before the crippling pain had become a recurrent bedfellow and the room darkening shades had become necessary, forever after cheating her out of any pleasure she may have once taken in the rooms most opulent color scheme.
Swiveling gently around and lowering herself into a seated position on the edge of the bed when the side of the mattress came into contact with the front of her thighs, she slid open the drawer of the bamboo and brass bedside table she had imported from Madagascar at great cost, and withdrew several prescription bottles before locating the bottle into which she had etched a deep X in the cap, as a method of identifying it when her sense of sight chose to betray her, and shook three maybe four of the oblong capsules into her palm.
“More is always better.” Her skewered subconscious succeeded in seducing her into tipping the bottle yet again until she felt the lightest tap of just one more pill fall into her waiting palm. Slipping the dry capsules past her runaway choke mechanism, once a tricky business, had been easily overcome once she learned to pinch the end of her tongue with one hand while deftly guiding the pills down her throat with the other.
With that accomplished, there was nothing left to do but lie down in the dark and wait for the pain to subside.
She would figure out a suitable excuse for missing the monthly Marketing meeting later. She surely couldn’t admit a headache kept her away. Heavens no. That was way too female an excuse. Not to mention it’s reeking of weakness.
Perhaps a last minute flight to… To.. Tooo…..
Closing her eyes, she fought to clear her head, but even the searing headache could not quiet the frenzied dialogue of the mythomane pathologique, otherwise translated as her inner pathological liar, as it fought with her pain addled brain for a permissible excuse.
To somewhere exotic. Warm and exotic. To hear the deathbed confession of an.. An.. An ostracized relative. A very rich ostracized relative…
While not yet perfect, that one held promise she conceded wearily, as ultimately euchred, she allowed the narcotics to take over, and alas succumbed to sleep.
This piece was inspired by the twelve words in this weeks MLMM’s Wordle # 164 which were:
- Euchred- utterly done in or at the end of one’s tether; exhausted.
- Mythomane- a person with a strong or irresistible propensity for fantasizing, lying, or exaggerating.
And one of the three phrasal prompts offered this week on the OLWG #138 which was: like old lovers.
Oh, and my character is named loosely after our very own Sadje, as I was struggling with the indifference of writers block before I read and was able to comment elaborately on one of her posts today. Thanks again Sadje!