fourteen
Santiago’s Lonely Heart
“What the f**k is wrong with me?” I stretched my arms over my head and yawned. “Either I can’t shut my brain off, or I’m sleeping. It’s like there’s no middle ground.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, got to my feet, then fell back on the mattress with a groan. The copper ceiling tiles swirled together for a moment, so I shut my eyes and opened them again. “I am so tired. No, I’m just drunk or hungover, but I must get out of this damned bed.”
A siren went off nearby and instead of being jolted by the noise, I simply covered my ears with my palms. Once the awful sound faded, I removed my hands and noticed how awful they looked. My nails hadn’t been cut in days, and dirt had accumulated underneath them.
“This has got to stop.” I whispered, then
