Turning the tables

Chapter 17 - Panic! At the disco

It was only 8 am when I woke up to Freud jumping all over me, demanding I feed him. I chuckled as I sat up, suddenly becoming painfully aware that I didn't know when the party was. I sighed, sending Mabel a quick text as I slipped out of bed and went downstairs. I didn't see Bill anywhere in either the living room or the kitchen, so I assumed he was still asleep. I made my way to the kitchen and started making breakfast, the eggs and bacon sizzling in the pan. Freud squeaked again out of impatience, prompting me to turn and get some food from the fridge for him. I fed the hedgett some food, though I apparently took too long as the smell of burning eggs catching my attention. I spun back around, quick to take the food off the stove as the fire alarm started going on, assaulting my ears so very rudely. "What the fuck is happening?" Bill screamed, running down into the kitchen. "Burning food," I sighed, Bill sleepily nodding and sniffing the air. "Oh, yeah, that smells like my hopes and dreams." He hummed, making me laugh, forgetting for a second about the smoke detector for a second. "Gee, thanks," I said, ignoring the fact that Bill was in his boxers as I moved past him to open the front door, hoping that the frigid morning air would help clear out the burnt smell of the unborn.

I re-entered the kitchen and opened the window, Bill still leaning against the doorway. "Well... I'm going back to bed." He announced, turning around and heading back to his room. I frowned, wishing he would have stayed as I started scraping the food into the trash. I decided to just skip breakfast and go take a shower. I finished feeding Freud and allowed him to rest on my shoulders as I closed the front door and walked upstairs, grabbing some clothes from my closet then heading to the bathroom. "Okay, get out, gremlin," I said, gently putting Freud on the ground and shooing him out of the bathroom and closing the door. I slipped off my clothes, pausing to take a long look at my tattoos. I turned, looking at the one I had on my back. It was Bill's last words on a burning piece of yellow ribbon. The ribbon actually wrapped around a little cartoon portrait of me, who had an arm stretched out towards the sky, journal 3 gripped tightly in his hand. I sighed, remembering how much I had spent to get my greatest traumas inked onto my body, shaking my head. 

I didn't regret it, but the tattoos sometimes brought back sadness. I cleared my throat, shoving the feeling down as I turned on the shower and got in. I took my time showering, wanting to look good for the party later. Whether it was just for the social aspect or for Pacifica, I didn't know. I got back out of the shower, turning off the water and drying on, putting on my boxers and a pair of sweat pants, not bothering with a shirt since I would have to change again later anyways. I opened the bathroom door, letting the steam escape while I dried and styled my hair. I threw my dirty laundry in the hamper and went to the living room, laying on the couch and scrolling through my phone for a while. Mable finally messaged me back around noon.

Detectiveduck'sbitch - (When is the party?)

 (It starts at 3. See ya soon, Dip!) - Sparkleslut

I quickly sent her a quick thanks before going back to scrolling through my phone. Bill finally decided to join me in the living room, having apparently just got up. "Party's in three hours." I informed him, earning nothing but a small grunt of "Not going." In response as he headed to sit in one of the chairs that were out of my view. However, I didn't hear him sit down, so after a few minutes, I turned to see him gapping at my back. "What?" I asked. "You got my last words tattooed on your back?" He questioned, sounding choked up. "Yeah... I did." I said, "Why, is that a problem?" I asked, raising a brow. "No, no... it's not a problem. Just unexpected..." He trailed off, shaking his head as he looked at the other tattoos before leaving the room, frowning. "Bill?" I asked, getting up and following him. "Hey, freckles, is there something wrong?" I asked, Bill, shook his head in response. "No, I'm good." He muttered, practically running to his room. I frowned, worried about my friend. After a second of not knowing what I should, I continued on to his room, his door closed. I knocked, "Bill? I know you're upset, but can't you just talk to me and tell me what's wrong?" I asked, sighing after a few minutes of getting ignored. "Bill, please, let me help?" I begged, once again being greeted with silence.