Shoelaces

Greasy Tacos

I somehow find myself in front of my house. At least I think it's my house. I'm 99% sure it's my house. I'm 90% sure it's my house. I sloppily slap my hands onto my pockets to try to grab my keys, but instead I grab my phone. 1:00 AM. That's why it's so dark. There's a text message from my mom but the text itself is too small to read. Another message from Jazmine. And then there's a message from Santiago. Actually, there's three. I squint my eyes in an attempt to read them, but all the letters blur together. The tears in my eyes don't help. This is stupid anyways. I slam my passcode into my phone and go to my settings. This is muscle memory after I had to block so many spam callers. Settings. Phone. Block Contacts. Add new. S. Click on the name that looks closest to Santiago. Done. I'll give it to you Drunk Darrion, you're pretty smart. Blocking Santiago as a means to never have to humiliate yourself again is a smart move. Sober Darrion is stupid. Stupid for thinking this would work. Stupid for letting himself fall. Stupid for asking. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I sway to the front door, pulling out my keys this time and shoving them into the door. Trying to move quietly, while really being excruciatingly loud, I make my way upstairs. I spot my mom stepping outside of her room as I depart the last step.

"Is that you, Darrion?"

"Me? Yesh, yes it's me."

"I'm glad you found your way home. See you in the morning, sweetie." She must be half asleep as she walks back into her room. I blink.

I find myself in the bathroom when I open my eyes.

I blink.

Head in the toilet bowl, throwing up.

I blink.

Toothbrush too far into my mouth.

I blink.

Fully clothed in my bed, shoes on and everything.

I blink.

The sun crashes into my face, the light forming into an axe which comes chopping into my head. I groan, rolling over to see the clock on the side of my bed. 10:00. Not too late. More sleep. Wait, wait, can't sleep. Have to go to the bathroom. Have to throw up again. See? This is why I don't drink. Not that I really had the choice to drink all that often, but still. I pull myself up off the floor and flush the toilet, watching my hideous vomit circle away. Dragging myself over to the mirror, I see the reflection of my face. I want to throw up again. I'm somehow able to get myself naked and into the shower, the water soothing my aching head. Soothing my puffy eyes.

That's when it hits me like a fucking truck.

Santiago.

The tears start to blend into the shower water. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did I do this? Why did I do this to myself? Now you don't even have a nice friend who invited you to his house and bought you sushi and complemented your outfits. Now you're truly all alone once again, Darrion. I slide to the bottom of the shower, letting the water comfort me. Maybe it can just wash me away.

I find myself downstairs, at the dinner table, my sister's laughs turning into a mallet which mash my skull into a pulp. My dad reads the paper while my mom reads some motivational book. They ask me about last night, and I give them vague answers that I hope satisfy their probing question. My stomach both craves nothing and grease, a very interesting combination. My heart craves love. Let's focus on my stomach for now.

I whip out my phone, automatically looking for a text from Santiago. But there won't be one. You blocked him, remember? Was that the smartest move? Probably not, but it's too late to turn back now.

D: "Do you wanna go get some food?"

D: "On me."

J: "Already at your house."