It's Just My Mind

Rachael

I wake from the couch, groaning because apparently I slept like a pretzel on the couch. My left leg is hiked up on the back of the couch, and the rest of me is contorted oddly. I hiss in pain as my neck reminds me I slept wrong. Ever since I turned thirty, everything hurts. I could sneeze and throw a hip out at this point.

The glass of water I apparently left out on the coffee table calls to me. I grab it and chug it until I choke and sputter, wiping away the remnants from my chin.

I shouldn’t have drunk that bottle.

My life's a mess, and I am in too deep now to do anything about it.

I stand and sway, needing to get to the bathroom and get to work as early as I can manage because of this homicide. I have no idea if Marty is working the case right now or waiting for me. We need to meet with the coroner as well and make sure they do bloodwork.

I’m caught off guard by how easily I dive in, despite not even knowing whether I’m actually involved. Despite it being so close to home.

I open the fridge, but don’t know why I bother when I didn’t order out and I haven’t been to the store, but maybe I can find something behind the expired condiments and the vegetables in my hospice crisper from when ‘eat healthier me’ goes to the store and buys things I will never eat.

I grumble loudly, but then I become confused when I see a long oblong shape wrapped in tinfoil on my top shelf. I grab it and pull it out. I can’t remember the last time I ordered a burrito. I close the fridge and open the wrapper. It passes the sniff test and doesn’t appear moldy. I take a bite and moan. It is absolutely delicious.

It’s also not that cold.

I pause my chewing to grab my gun off the counter. I take it and the burrito with me as I go room to room, clearing each other. My heart beats in my chest, but I ignore it because this burrito is delicious.

I find no intruder in my home and check the locks on both doors. “It’s just my mind. It’s not real. Nobody is there.” I take a deep breath and then another bite. I must have stopped somewhere on my way home at some point this week and probably tired to warm it up before I passed out.

Damn, I hope my microwave is okay.

I carry my gun and my tin-foil burrito to the kitchen. I place my gun down and open my microwave. It appears as though I was coherent enough to microwave it and wrap it up afterwards. Maybe I thought the fridge was the microwave.

Who knows....I’ve already acknowledged I am a mess.

The stove says that it is nine am. I probably managed three to four hours of sleep if I passed out early enough. I take my burrito and pull out my clothing for today. Once I am showered with my hair back in a bun and my uniform in place, I grab my burrito and belt, locking my doors as I climb into my car.

As soon as I pull into the parking lot of work, I groan at the sight of Jake’s car already here. It's like his asshole radar can sense when I am coming into work early or late. Fortunately for us both, the sheer heft of that burrito has smothered my edge, leaving me full and unexpectedly tolerant.

I pull the door open and pass the front desk dispatch. “Morning, Vicky,” I say quickly as I head to the locker room to stuff my bag away. My headache makes me want to bypass her as quickly as I can so I can suffer from my hangover in silence.

“Well, shit on a shingle, you are here early!” Vicky gasps dramatically as I pass her. I squeeze my eyes shut as her words pound against my skull. I place my finger over my lips in a shushing gesture, which she laughs as I back into the locker room door. She knows my habits.

Her dad is a day walker whom she often has to play designated driver to.

I open my locker and throw my purse in it. I rummage through my pockets until I find what I am looking for. I pull out the tramadol bottle for my persistent headaches. The doctor prescribing doesn’t realize they are caused by hangovers. I pop a couple pills into my shaking hand, desperate for relief and to take the edge off......life.

I know I am abusing the system.

I don’t care.

I legitimately take medications for anxiety.

I lie about taking my antidepressants.

I maxed out on everything.

Nothing worked.

Zoloft made me feel......blah, sluggish. I was also far too overlooking of Jake’s attitude problem.

Simply put, if I can’t feel it working, if it can’t numb the pain or make me feel good, I don’t want to take it.

I pull out my notebook of notes I took last night that I will need to translate from drunk me and shut my locker, going to get some water from the sink, but I turn right into an awaiting

Jake leaned against the doorway, a smirk twisting his face. “You look like death, Rachael.” He taunts as his eyes rake up and down my body.

“Better death than whatever nightmare you call a face, Jake.”

He chuckled darkly, stepping closer. “Careful. You’re not exactly intimidating.”

I laughed, bitter and dry. “Not intimidating? Maybe. But I don’t need to be. You? You’re just a bully with bad breath and an ego bigger than your brain.”

Jake’s smirk faltered, a flash of irritation. “Watch it.” I roll my eyes and walk past him, checking his shoulder on my way out. I’m not scared of his ass, I’m just tired of it.

I can feel him following me as I grab a bottle of water from the staff fridge on my way to Marty’s office. I throw my pills back as I sit in a chair in his office. Jake enters as well, which means he, too, is here early to help with the case. It's not mandatory, but there is hardly any of us, there isn’t many options.

He can work it. He and Marty can do it all. I will turn over all my photos and stay as far away as I can. They will solve it easily, and it will be over with. There will be no ties to me and no ties to my father.

I keep repeating this mantra as Jake situates himself next to me, boring a hole in the side of my head.

What the hell is his freaking problem?

It can’t be as simple as I won’t screw him, can it?

“Glad you two came in early,” Marty grumbles from his desk. Obviously, this homicide takes first priority. Jake, you are handling extra patrols today. Find a way to make it work out. If I must, I can call in a reserve. Rachael, I want your evidence photos.”

“I already planned to get you them and the coroner. I studied them last night and made some notes,” I chew on the inside of my cheek nervously. I just want to pass the evidence photos along, and I don’t want to try decoding my notes right now.

“Why am I stuck on extra patrols? I have been here longer than she.” Jake raises his voice and scowls as he throws his hand out toward me.

I hate that I tense trying to hide a flinch.

“You have extra patrols because I want Rachael working on this case.”