Roxy sat alone in her house.
Her cats were dead.
The house was cold.
Her fridge was open and empty.
She was tired. She hadn't slept in days.
But she couldn't sleep no matter how drunk she gotten.
Her house was scattered with dead cats and bourbon bottles.
Some 80's music was playing from her computer. Dirk sent it to her.
Her phone buzzed. She threw it to the wall.
Plastic shards broke from it, but It kept on buzzing.
She groaned and shoved her head into a pillow.
The light in her room flickered and died.
She was hungry. She considered eating one of her cats more than once.
She was too lazy to get up though.
Too lazy and weak.
It's been raining all day and night.
The sound does nothing to sooth her headache.
She had no idea why she started drinking anyway.
She noticed the green sweater on the floor.
Her computer illuminated the room enough.
She hears the sound of something moving. Several things moving.
It's coming from one of the long dead cats.
She sees something move from under it's skin. It's enough to make her scream and run out of the room.
She nearly trips on the way out and her own voice is deafening.
When she makes it to the stairway, she vaguely realizes there's more than one cat corpse in the house.
She bolts out the door.
- - -
A drenched Roxy sits in her car. It's pink and there's no dead cats.
But there is a bottle of bourbon.
She goes to reach it.
She then pulls back.
She thinks back to the sweater.
A pause.
She runs back into the house, car door open.
- - -
She instinctively shakes the sweater.
She bangs it against the wall.
Something small and black falls from it.
She holds it, against all instinct to scream and drop it.
She hits it against the wall again.
And again.
And again.
More and more black little blobs hit the ground and skeeter away.
One skeeters near her leg and her composure is gone.
She stomps on it with a heel.
Her throat contracts, her chest feels tight and cold.
She's beyond screaming now.
She sounds like a pack of dogs getting shot.
The intense screaming interludes into angry shouting.
"You...!"
Fwop.
"Stupid...!"
Fwop.
"Bitch...!"
Fwop.
"Aaaaagh...!"
The realization she's hitting a sweater against a wall and screaming sinks in minutes later.
"...What the fuck am I doing?"
- - -
She's leaning on her dryer, holding brandless detergent.
The machine dings.
The sweater is a size smaller.
She groans.
"Fuck."
- - -
She's in the car again.
At some point, the rain became snow.
She's cold and wet.
She's crawled up in her car. It's pink. It's where they first kissed.
She curls into herself, with the sweater in her arms.
She watches the snow finish building up on the car windows.
Her eyelids sink.
- - -
In the back of her mind she hears the sound of metal pulling apart metal.
And suddenly she doesn't feel so cold.
She can hear someone sobbing.
Everything is green and warm.
She can hear other people, faintly.
"Callie?"
"Never scare me like that again, you bint."