insignificant torture…
Tap.
Oh no.
Tap.
Please, G-d, not again.
Tap.
Sonya’s eyes flew open, then shut tight as she groaned her protest at the horrid noise. She turned away, hoping that facing the opposite direction would help her ignore the sound.
Tap tap.
An arm shot behind her, groping for the extra pillow she knew was on the other side of the bed. She found it, buried her head underneath its thick foamy goodness, then grabbed the edge of her comforter and pulled it over her head, cocooning herself in a too-toasty chrysalis.
*tep tep tep*
Sonya flung everything off, still the same groggy woman she was when she went to bed a scant three hours ago. She was tired – no, she was exhausted after a long day of working and traveling and talking with recalcitrant radio station managers, reluctant to institute the operational changes required by the upper echelon of the media corporation that was her client. She had hoped that she’d be able to get in at least six hours of sleep before having to rise the next day to start it all over again.
But now… Now she would have to call Travis, have him come over and do something about the torture so that maybe she could get back to sleep for at least another couple of hours. Because she knew she’d never be able sleep if that noise continued. She was sensitive to it even with earplugs.
She picked up her bedside phone, punched Travis’ speed dial, and lay back on her bed, her eyes slowly closing as she listened to the soothing ring on the phone line.
TAP TAP – TAP TAP.
Her eyelids rasped open again. After three rings she heard a click and a muddled male voice through the receiver.
“’Lo?”
“Travis, it’s—“
“Sonya. Yeah, I know. This had better be fucking good, calling me at three thirty in the fucking morning.”
“Travis, I’m really sorry, but I can’t sleep. I’ve got a full day tomorrow and I have to be out of the house in four hours and that g-dawful—“
“You’re shitting me, right? You want me to come over, don’t you? Make your little problem go away for you. Again. Not going to happen to this time, Sonya. I’m your ex, not your handyman, not your slave. Goodn—“
“Travis, no, please, you know I can’t sleep with that sound going on. I can’t afford to be bleary tomorrow. I have to be sharp or my bosses’ll eat me alive. Please, I’m begging.”
“Too fucking bad. Serve you right, working for those g-ddamned assholes, dicking around with the truth and with other companies’ employees. You wanted to make money, sweetie, at the expense of your soul, then you can damned well pay for it. And leave me alone after midnight. You’re waking up my girlfriend too.”
Sonya winced as Travis’ receiver slammed down in her ear. She screamed and threw her cordless phone against the wall, her Persian cat Samantha jumping off the bed at the noise, darting under the boxspring.
Sonya swung her legs to the side and slid off the luxuriously high bed. Her bare feet padded through the doorway into the cold-tiled bathroom. She rubbed her eyes, then peered wearily at the sink.
Tap. Tap. Tap tap tap.
G-damned fucking dripping faucet.
