Read Online A Note of Madness by Tabitha Suzuma - Free Book Online Page A

away.
    ‘Just give it back, Harry.’ Clenched teeth.
    ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
    His jaw ached. ‘Just give it to me! I’ve got a splitting headache, OK?’
    ‘You prefer a headache or having your stomach pumped?’
    Flynn lunged but Harry was quicker. He jumped up and strode into the kitchen.
    Stumbling to his feet, Flynn followed him, cursing. He had to lean his hands against the walls to keep them from rocking.
    ‘Fuck you, Harry!’ He reached the kitchen doorway to find Harry washing the aspirin down the sink. As Flynn staggered inside, he saw Harry reach for the bottle of whisky, left on the counter.
    ‘Don’t you dare!’ Flynn threw himself across the length of the small room and caught Harry just as he was lifting the neck of the bottle. It smashed against the lino, glass chips flying, and Harry fell heavily against the edge of the sink. Flynn crashed to the floor.
    Neither of them moved for a moment, transfixed by the steadily growing pool of liquid. The smell in itself was intoxicating and Flynn felt wildly sick. He pulled himself to a sitting position against one of the cupboards and looked up. Harry sank heavily onto a stool, holding his side.
    ‘Sorry,’ Flynn said. His voice shook.
    Harry looked at him, breathing hard. ‘Christ . . . I think you’re becoming an alcoholic.’
    ‘I’m not. I just wanted to sleep.’
    Eyes wide and uncomprehending. ‘Why?’
    ‘Because I’m shattered, OK?’
    ‘All you ever do these days is sleep!’ Harry exclaimed. ‘I don’t understand. The other week you were so hyper you were writing operas all night!’
    ‘Well I’ve decided sleeping beats being awake, OK?’
    Harry sagged back against the wall, lost for words. Then he gave a small smile. ‘Your cheek’s bleeding, by the way.’
    Flynn felt a sore patch under his left eye. His fingertips came away with a red smear.
    Harry managed a laugh. ‘This is all a bit dramatic, isn’t it?’
    Flynn nodded, suddenly drained. ‘I’m going to go to bed, Harry.’
    ‘It’s the middle of the day!’
    Exhaustion pressed down on him, dull and aching. The pain in his head was nearing intolerable. He needed to get away from the stench of whisky before he threw up. ‘Just let me sleep this off.’
    Harry bounced up. ‘Coffee!’ he declared. ‘Coffee’s what you need!’
    But Flynn got unsteadily to his feet. ‘I’m going to bed,’ he repeated, his voice barely audible even to his own ears, and left.
    There were lots of different types of headaches, Flynn thought to himself. Apart from the severity and the different locations and types of pain, some headaches had a shape, a smell, a taste, even a colour all of their own. By the third day in bed, Flynn could only think about the throb in his head, and the pain that seemed to reverberate throughout his body. A single shaft of metallic silver piercing him between the eyes. Night andday existed only within the demarcations of the luminous digits of his alarm and the rising and fading glow behind the closed curtains. He dozed in fleeting snatches, waking at excruciatingly regular intervals as Harry crashed around in the mornings, at lunch time, then again in the evenings, banging incessantly on his door with offers of food or coffee and trying to engage him in pointless conversation whenever he made a dive for the bathroom.
    Cello practice from the next room was the worst thing he had to endure. He didn’t want to hear music of any description. Didn’t want to think about music, nor hear it in his tortured dreams; wished he could forget about its very existence.
    Then, late one night, he was roughly pulled from his hazy state by a painful ring at the door, forcing him to acknowledge consciousness. He fought hard to stay asleep, panicking as he felt the cloak of drowsiness begin to lift, but then found himself straining to hear who it was. A man’s voice greeted Harry indistinctly. Not Jennah then. Harry’s dad over on business? Professor Kaiser? Dear