Destination Reached

SOPHIA

Cock-a-doodle-doo!

I was going to murder that rooster. That is...if I could manage to move.

I woke up with a massive pounding in my head and hair in my mouth. I blinked with difficulty, face plastered to a scratchy couch cushion. I was sweaty and itchy and it felt like million bees had decided to make their home in my brain. The sun was infuriatingly bright, and Abby's stupid tie dye curtains that were, for all intents and purposes, essentially gauze, were proving no defense against the searing light.

I maneuvered my way into a sitting position, grimacing. My fingers were sticky, and a warm weight pressed over my calf. I looked over to my left and discovered Maia sprawled out on the opposite end of the couch, drooling impressively.

I felt positively disgusting, and my head hurt like a bitch. Carefully, I wriggled out from Maya's legs, the room spinning slightly. My stomach turned over as I set my bare feet on the floor. I couldn't remember taking my shoes off, or changing into my pajama shorts and a massive t-shirt that read FUNPALOOZA in bright orange letters. Then again, I didn't remember a lot of things from last night.

It all sort of blended together into a swirling haze of tequila and red, white, and blue.

I spotted a glass of water on the coffee table, with a post it note that said: For Sophia in blue ink stuck to the side of it. I gulped it down gratefully, hoping to erase the sour taste currently occupying my mouth. Jesus Christ. I moaned, running a hand through my hair. There were crunchy bits. Ew.

"Well, look who's awake," hummed Jake, sweeping into the room with far too much pep in his step. He looked well rested and chipper and beautiful as ever, and I hated him for it. "Oh good," he said, nodding at the glass in my hand, "You found your water."

"You got me water?" I scowled at him.

"And took off your shoes and took out your hair and prevented you from going skinny dipping in the ocean at 3 in the morning," he added cheerfully.

"This is your t-shirt, then?" He nodded. Well that explained why it hung past my knees. "That's really nice," I mumbled.

"Is it?" He tilted his head at me quizzically. "Because you're still scowling."

"I'm in a scowling sort of place right now," I informed him, rubbing my face.

"Ah," Jake's lips twitched slightly. "Regretting those last few shots right about now?"

"I probably would be if I remembered taking them," I muttered, barking out a short laugh. I hoisted myself up to my feet, "Ow." I frowned, "Why does my elbow feel like it got eaten by a bear?"

Jake bit his lip, smirking slightly, "Your funky chicken got a little out of hand last night..."

"I was dancing?"

"You don't remember that either?" I buried my face in my hands, mortified. "Randall..." he said softly, tapping my shoulder. "Would now be the right time to tell you that you have a ketchup packet stuck in your hair?"

"Oh my god," I groaned. "Just never look at me again, please."

Jake laughed, "Here. Let me." Gently, he reached out and untangled the packet from my mass of frizz. His fingers brushed against my ear as he did so, light and cool.

"Thank you," I blushed slightly.

"Don't sweat it."

"For all of it, I mean." I told him. "For taking care of me last night...I'm sure it wasn't pretty." I could barely stomach the thought of him having to corral me onto the couch, of him seeing me dance, of whatever word vomit spewed out of me, or actual vomit. God, I hope I didn't vomit, or confess anything potentially friendship ruining to him. Not to mention the horror of how he got me to change into these clothes. I was so not thinking about that. I never wanted to know. Ever. Ignorance is bliss. Truly.