Part 1: Monday Disaster

I can't believe it took me three years to realize that being a detective is a curse. When my father first told me about it, I didn't believe him. Why the hell should I, anyway? All I needed to do was to chase down criminals and study their traces. For such a long time, I only thought about clues, forensic puzzles, and crime interrogation. 

Now, fuck it. 

It's my fifth bottle tonight. And I probably wouldn't stop until I knock myself out. 

"Damn, girl!" Brenna exclaimed. "I didn't know this is how miserable your life is." 

I bit my lower lip and replied with a shurg, opening another bottle of beer in front of me. 

Today was a hell day. And for the past few weeks, I thought of nothing but my job. I have no idea if there's any deed I can possibly do to make Officer Rankin think that I deserve to get that promotion. Each time I pass by his office, there was nothing but a slight smirk coming from under his moustache. He's probably been thinking how unfit I am for that damn position. 

"I'm not going home." I replied, finally. 

"You're being like this because you didn't get the promotion." She shakes her head and takes the bottle away from my hand. "I get it. But you can't go on like this, Samara. You got work to do." 

I clapped and turn to her. "Exactly," I replied. "Exactly why I needed that position." 

I see her pout and pour herself another glass. Brenna knows how desperate I am for this. We've been working at the same station for three years and there was never a moment that I didn't mention her about earning a higher position. 

It probably annoys her to see me like this. But it's Sunday and this is the only day I can have time for myself. 

I look around me and squinted my eyes at the sight of people dancing to the beat of the music simultaneously. There's so much noise going around but I can only hear this stupid voice in my head telling me I should've done better. 

I guess nothing ever really works for me to impress that old man, anyway. 

"One more bottle, please!" I shouted at the bartender standing in front of me. 

He didn't respond but instead turns to Brenna with an apologetic look, probably thinking to himself how this drunkard mess (that's me) can ever be considered a professional detective. 

"Don't worry," I pat his shoulder, laughing. "I don't normally drink like this." 

I see Brenna whispered something to him. He only nodded and began taking all the empty bottles in front of us. 

"What's that for?" I shouted to her. 

"We need to get you home, sweetheart." 

The next thing I felt was a soft comforter hitting my back. Probably my couch. Probably Brenna's. Probably someone else's. 

I don't know. 

We had to stop at least three times on the road all because I couldn't stop puking. There was a great sense of relief inside me, thinking that I was finally able to let out the frustration I've been holding back for so long. But there's another one that deeply regrets what I just did. 

I could've spent my Sunday night studying new cases instead of wasting my time away drinking. And now I don't even know where I am. 

"This is crazy," I heard Brenna said as she walk towards the kitchen. 

I can barely see her from here. I guess I'm just too drunk to function. 

"You owe me big time." 

Sure. 

But my previous thought was right. Maybe there was something I could've done to be noticed by the bosses in our station. Maybe I wasn't good enough to be recognized. 

Either way, being a detective, as I've pointed, is a curse. 

A bad one. 

- 

Monday morning begins by me surprisingly recognizing that my entire body is already on the floor. I didn't notice how drunk I was last night. Or even how I fell down. 

I rub my eyes in confusion and was relieved to see the familiar surroundings. Brenna's flat. She's probably at work by now. This happened last year, too. When I stayed up too late and ended up being late on the job. 

Fuck! 

I immediately grab my phone from the pocket of my jeans to check the time. I'm two hours late and I haven't even fix myself. I couldn't help but form a frown as I realize how much my coat reek of alcohol. 

"Shit," I whispered. 

A call from Brenna quickly came as soon as I stood up. I answered it with one hand, while the other attempts to undress myself to get rid of the smell. 

"Where are you?!" she said, sounding worried. "I prepared your outfit on the table. Are you on the way?" 

I gulped three times and nodded, a bit panic because of my situation. 

"Y-Yeah," I said. "Don't worry. I'll be there." 

"Jesus Christ, Samara. They're looking for you here!" 

I put the phone down the table and turn the loud speaker on as I gather my new set of clothes. 

"Just tell them I'll be there," I replied. 

I ended the call and went towards the bathroom, only wearing my black bra and underwear, hugging my fresh clothes. I keep mentally hitting myself in the head, thinking what the hell did I do last night to make me feel so hangover and reckless. 

It's Monday. And Officer Rankin hates late comers when it's the first day of the fucking week. 

I quickly step my foot on the gas as soon I turn the engine of the car. Realizing it wasn't as comfortable as it seems, I glance at my legs every now and again as I drive, attempting to remove my high heels from both feet. 

"Oh, my God." 

I lower my back to reach my shoes even more. But the next thing I heard was a sudden sound of a car alarm and a smashing sound from God knows where. 

Not hesitating twice, I stepped on the brake and find myself instantly looking at my front. 

Holy shit. 

I can feel my heart beating fast and heavy. I couldn't even think of anything else. 

This is the worst Monday possible. 

Realizing what damage I just did, on a Monday morning, where my bosses and friend are waiting for me to show up, I angrily wear my high heels back and immediately stepped out of the car. 

I gather every ounce of courage that I have to walk towards the car that I just hit. The car turns into a hazard mode and without warning, the driver stepped out, too, allowing me to see him under broad daylight. 

"Seriously?" He takes his shades off and turn to me. 

I look around for a while to see if there's any vehicle at the back, probably waiting for us to proceed. It's a good thing that there's nothing to see, so far. 

"Look, I'm sorry." I walk towards him. "Is there anything I can do to make it up?" 

He didn't say anything at first but instead proceeded to look at me from head to toe. I can see his eyes wandering all over my body, as if that would give him an answer to what I just asked. 

"You're an officer?" he asked, implying that he saw the badge on my left chest. His eyes met mine. 

I glance at him, too, pretty impressed of how well-dressed he is. 

"Yes," I said. "No, I mean... I'm a detective." 

He nods and I watch in disbelief of how ridiculously good he looks as his lips slowly parted. 

"Anyway," I coughed. "I'm running late. Let's just get this over with. I can pay you---" 

"You don't need to." He forms a half smile. "It's okay." 

"Excuse me?" 

"Just give me your number," 

I couldn't help but scoffed the moment I heard those words from him. I wouldn't deny that he's good looking or that he looks like a distant relative of a Greek shit or anything. But men just need to stop assuming that they can get anyone that easily. 

"No," I replied. "I don't even know you." 

Seconds later, he's smiling even wider. He shakes his head and pointed at the damage of his car, then turn to look at me again. 

"Your number," he repeated. "So I can settle this with you later." 

I raised an eyebrow in confusion. 

"You said you're running late." He scratches his head.

As those words sink in, I suddenly have the urge to bump my head on a wall. I didn't really realize that the alcohol hasn't fully left my system just yet. My mind seems to be going off somewhere. 

"Oh, shit. That." I whispered. 

I heard him chuckle as I look at my shoes in embarrassment. 

I took one of the cards from my back pocket and immediately handed it to him, trying to avoid looking at him so straightly. 

This is sick. 

"Call me." I said. "After I get back from work." 

He nodded as he takes the card from my hand. 

"Yeah, okay." he replied. 

"I apologize for what happened." 

Not saying anything more, he just glance around the road and gestured me to get back inside my car. I nodded in return and slowly make my way towards the driver's seat. 

Great. Now I don't know how else can I explain this to the office. They would probably assume that I'm making up another excuse to avoid facing consequences. 

Or maybe Officer Rankin would even scold me and say that this is the primary reason why I wasn't promoted in the first place. 

"Though it wouldn't be bad if I ask you out, too." 

I quickly stopped as I heard him say those words. I turn to look at him again but was startled to see that he already closed the door and went inside the car.