#crowley is being a jerk

[secretdiaryofcrowley]

Things to Do Today

1. Sleep

2. Not get booped awake by weird people

3. Stop dreaming ridiculous things.

The duck still doesn't want the peas...

It gazes at me with one beady eye, its head bending sideways while the rapping and tapping quickens its pace.

"Wait", I protest, "you can't be a duck, you're supposed to be a raven. A duck wouldn't be rapping and tapping at my chamber door."

"Right you are", says the duck and with a flap of its wings knocks over the bowl. The peas roll all over the place while a bespectacled friar in a black frock frantically chases after them and yells something in German about dominant allele, whatever that is. My poor head can't make sense of it because the rapping and tapping rings too loudly in my ears.

The duck on the other hand doesn't worry about any of this. It flaps its wings again and takes off. Landing on the shoulder of the Metatron, it croaks a long last 'Nevermore' in my direction. The Metatron glares at me and I notice, he has a pair of black buttons sewn over his eyes. Still, doesn't make the glare any less creepy. 'Nevermore' still rings in my ears when the rapping and tapping finally saves me from drowning in seas of peas.

Ouch.

My head hurts.

Again.

Oh, come on, Nina! Seriously?

I scramble for the handle to roll down the window before her angry fist starts breaking glass. My poor, poor car. "What. Do. You. Want?"

"I want you to come out of your little booze fortress, Mr. Six-Shots-of-Espresso and listen to me."

"I don't want to talk."

"You won't! I'm going to talk and you're going to listen. And if you're too drunk to listen, you will use these devilish powers of yours to make yourself sober and listen anyway."

"Big words from the woman who wanted to drink herself senseless after Annie Wilkes dumped her."

What? I'm not a nice person and I want her to go away.

"First, you have absolutely no right to insult my ex-partner. Second, that would've been one night. One. You've been going at it for several months now. Are you trying to drink yourself to death?"

I swing my long legs out the door, jump up and start pacing around her. Slowly. Menacingly. She doesn't even flinch.

"So? And whatever do you think," I spit out, "makes this any of your business?"

Her death glare is no less deathy than mine. Maybe even a little more so.

"I made it my business. Because with your shitty behaviour you're hurting people I care about."

"What?"

Why?

I don't understand. Why is it anyone's business what I do? Even if I wanted to drink myself to death - which I don't - why would that be anyone's business but my own?

The only person I love is gone.

He doesn't care, so why should I?

~ * ~

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