The Catfish Chronicles

Pale

~her~
"Melatonin can't get you high dumb ass," I laughed, propping him against the bathroom sink, which couldn't be comfortable considering the knob that is now currently jabbing into his oh-so-muscular football player back. But hey, not my problem. His eyes shut, which I soon realized wasn't a good thing, so I slapped him. Hard. Apparently that works, because he brought his hand to his face and mumbled something that rhymes with ditch under his his breath, which I would take as a good sign, if he didn't have blood, and quite a bit of it, leaking out of his shirt sleeve and onto the wood floor beneath us. I put my cold hand on his face, feeling sorry for slapping him for some reason, but reached down and lifted up his soaked shirtsleeve soon after. There were 8 semi deep, red oozing cuts adorning his forearm where there should be clear skin, but of course there wasn't. "Nick, what is this," I said sharply, even though to me it was obvious. "What were you doing in here?" I look up at him, his face paler that his usual pasty color, and his eyes shut. I reach up, about to slap him again, but my hand stutters, and I instead brush his blonde hair back, feeling his forehead, which feels cold as ice. He startles awake, mumbling something quietly before looking me in the eyes. Melatonin won't get him high, and luckily won't kill him either, but considering the circumstances, that may be a bit disappointing to Nick here, and he's going to be sleeping a lot. and being at least a slightly empathetic person, I drape my arm under his armpit and lift him up as much as I can before he starts stumbling again, cursing under his breath as he sways. "You gotta help me out here Nick," I stutter under his weight, all humor gone from my voice. He straitens up a bit, but still wobbles as we make our way across the hall into my bedroom, which happened to have a few stray drunk teenagers in it. "Party's over guys, tell all your buds too," I yelled, and they complained, walking out the door and out into the living room, slurring out to the rest of the people who were, for some reason, still here. I nearly dragged Nick all of the way over to the bed, and not so gracefully dropped him on it, turning to go back to the bathroom to clean up the mess, and find whatever the hell did that to his arm.