THE EVIL SISTER
Melody. Melody. Melody.
She was all I wanted to think about. All week long my memory kept calling up her scent and sending me spiraling back into obsession.
I hated it.
I loved it.
Suddenly, I had energy for music again. Hell, suddenly I had energy for everything again. I was ready to run a few laps around the Loop and climb a skyscraper while beating my chest and swatting at helicopters. I no longer felt compelled to drink myself into a stupor. I occasionally caught myself whistling.
My newfound energy was not universally well-received.
“What the hell are you so happy about?” Jojo wanted to know. She appeared at the doorway to her room looking worse for the wear and scowled at me.
“I feel alive again,” I said.
“How much cocaine have you had, honey?”
“None, why?”
