Chapter 27 Chapter 27 Bathroom Floors (continued)

Perry was immersed in boundless memories.He was 17 years old that year, and his mother was still the same as usual, crying alone while shaking him gently.Perry slowly opened his eyes, feeling a burning pain in his head, he touched the back of his head, blood was all over his hand.His father sat at the kitchen table, slugging down the bottle of wild turkey whiskey he'd used as a weapon to beat his own son. There were a few sticky blood stains on the bottle, stuck to the corner of the label, and the bottle was also stained with blood. Jacob Darcy looked at his son, his cold eyes seemed to be filled with anger forever, "How do you feel, my boy?"

Perry sat up slowly, his head ached and his eyes were dark. "One day, Dad," Perry murmured, "one day I'm going to kill you." Jacob Darcy took another gulp of wine, his eyes following his son.He put the blood-stained wine bottle on the table, and wiped his mouth with the back of his dirty hand, "You have to remember this is a cruel world, son, only the strong can survive. I am stepping into it for you Prepare yourself for the world—someday you'll thank me. Someday, you'll understand." Perry shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts, but found himself lying on the floor.It's not nine years ago, and he wasn't in Sheboygan.His father died a long time ago, and his hard days have long passed.But the real world in front of him didn't make his headache feel any better.He felt the muscles in his face go stiff, his face was sticky, and he smelled bile.He figured it out quickly.Apparently, his churning stomach still hadn't stopped when he passed out, and had another big fuck.

He shivered, it was a good thing he was face down, otherwise he would have suffocated on his own vomit, just like Bon Scott, former lead singer of AC/DC.Bon passed out in the back seat of a black Cadillac, and the next thing he vomited a big puddle of whiskey and something, but Bon was so drunk he didn't feel anything, and later, he was Drowned alive in his own vomit. Perry scratched his face with his hand, trying to wipe off his puke.There was some stickiness in the hair too.Although his stomach felt very tired, it was much better, and the vomiting finally stopped and started again.The bad smell came from the toilet.Perry sat up with difficulty and pressed the toilet bowl.

How could he be like this?Like moths circling a street lamp at night, vague fragments ran over and over again in his mind.His left leg was throbbing with pain. He stood up slowly, leaning on the cabinet.His body was so weak that he couldn't help wondering how long he had been unconscious.In the bathroom with the door ajar, you have no sense of time because the sun doesn't get in at all. He leaned against the sink, looked at himself in the mirror, and "ghostly looking" wasn't an adequate description of his current appearance.A layer of yellow-green filth covered the right side of his face, and a few lumps stuck to the ends of his hair.The bruise on his forehead stood out like a unicorn's horn.His dark circles are so pronounced that it makes them look comical, like heavy Night of the Living Dead stage makeup.

It wasn't his face that really caught his attention but the ghost thing that had dried and stuck to the mirror.Some of the strange fluid that had been dripping down the mirror was now forming dry black streaks.The gray spots on the mirror looked like clumps of dry paste, or a bug that had its brains popped out. It's just that Perry knew very well that it wasn't a bug.The messy image in the mirror forced his memory out of his chaotic brain.He didn't know what it was, but he knew it was a devil.This thing is the god of death that makes people daunting.At least it used to be that scary.

He had to take some cold medicine and wash off all the filth.Even reaching for the shower handle made his head buzz.He couldn't remember the last time he had been in such pain, or that he hadn't experienced it at all. "Go to the doctor," he murmured, "go to the fucking doctor." Perry went into the kitchen to get some cold medicine.He moved forward slowly and cautiously, resting his head on his hands, as if the buzzing head would thump to the floor if he let go.He looked at the digital clock on the mantelpiece: 12:15. It took his buzzing head a full minute to figure it out, in fact he'd just been thinking about how the sun could be out there at 12:15 in the middle of the night.He sighed, feeling really stupid.It's 12:15 p.m. and he's overslept.He couldn't sneak into the office now, at least not until his head felt better.He reassured himself that he would call and explain, but he had to take a shower first.

The cold medicine bottle is on the microwave, next to the knife holder, and there are a few knives stuck in the knife holder.His eyes fell on the chicken scissors.He could only see the brown plastic handle of the scissors, but what went into the knife holder was a thick, hard blade that was extremely sharp. Cutting chicken was as easy as cutting paper, and cutting chicken bones was as easy as cutting iron.He stopped for a moment, then reached for the medicine. He tossed four pills into his mouth, then scooped up some tap water in his hand, and swallowed the pills. After taking his pills, he staggered toward the bathroom, undressing as he went.He walked under the steaming head of the shower, enjoying the warmth of the mist.He raised his head and let the waterfall wash away the dirt from his hair and face.The scalding hot water re-energized his flabby muscles.His brain began to wake up a bit.He hoped that the cold medicine would take effect soon—he still had a splitting headache and his eyes were dark.