𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐋𝐢𝐞 ; 𝘉𝘺𝘭𝘦𝘳 ✗

𝐢𝐢. 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳

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"Wish I had the guts to rip 'em out and show myself they were there all along."
W.B.
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Troy
december ; tue | 7:34 am

Waking up in someone else's bed has to be my favorite pastime. The only thing kind of ruining it for me right now is this sharp pain running through my spine, and the fact that I don't really remember sleeping with this fellow next to me. I must've kept drinking after Mike left, although I barely even remember that.

Maybe getting up will jog my memory.

I sit up in the bed, resting my bare back against the headboard and just take in my surroundings. The room's pretty filthy to be honest. His entire wardrobe resting all around the floor and draped on the furniture. There's pot residue on this wooden nightstand that looks like it came from a thrift store. Stray bottles of beer and soda just chilling. And don't even get me started on the smell.

If I didn't already have somewhere to be I'd stay and clean, but since I do, I flip the covers off of me and search for my clothes in the piles. It wasn't as hard as I expected it to be; all of his clothes are dark and grungy almost while the colors on mine don't look like something I would wear.

I pick up the tie-dye shirt and one part of my memory begins to come back.

I must've thrown up on myself and someone lended me some clothes to sleep in, but it couldn't have been the...bartenders! That's right! I went home with Patrick the bartender and played a couple games of Uno with his roommates before getting my back blown out.

And when I say blown out, I mean it. Dude was entirely too rough for my liking.

After putting the shirt over my head, and combing out my hair with my fingers, I step outside of it into a bigger pig stye than the one I just left. They're townhouse could be nice with a couple buckets of bleach and maybe some paint. Just because it's cheap doesn't mean it has to look like this.

I peer down to the end of the hallway where there is a corridor; two rooms across from each other and one in the middle, which is the laundry room if I remember correctly.

I tip toe over the mess—stretching my legs as far as they'll go—and slowly open the door. The creaking makes my ears ring, and I clench my teeth hoping I didn't accidentally wake anyone up because I know these walls have got to be thin. They had to have heard us just a little bit, since afterwards I remember the girl—who gave me this shirt—asking if we went for round two when really I had to give him a massage. He was so tense.

I open the dryer and take out an outfit that suits my aesthetic much better and I slip everything on immediately. I'm not too sure what time it is but I'm using the windows as my light source and it's still pretty dark in here, so hopefully it's early enough for me to make at least half of first period. I don't even try with homeroom anymore.

But besides school, I really need to call mom. Make sure she takes her meds as soon as she wakes up and not a minute later. There's no telling what kind of day it's going to be.

I find myself back in Patrick's room, kicking around the clothes once more in search of my device. I must've woke him up with all my grunting, because he watches me with drowsy eyes—his chin resting just off the edge of the mattress—and he's reaching out to me so I stop what I'm doing and walk closer to him.