All Too Well [H.S]

Six

Lilah Green

Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania

10:43 AM

November 30th, 2024

Approximately three million people worldwide lose their lives to alcohol every single year. Whether or not it's a deadbeat discern, addiction, inebriated driving, or disease, it truly is about five percent. No person is to blame for my personal selections. I used to stay far from drinking, or at least not force myself to the point of vomiting for most of the night. However, as you grow older, you realize that what adults your age do is only drink. Still, it's difficult to chew your tongue when you're continuously surrounded by it.

It's always incredible in the beginning; you set free and experience it running through your veins, permitting you to feel comfortable even in the worst conditions. You laugh, feeling the weight of the sector launched from your shoulders so much that you no longer feel like a burden to those around you.

So you drink more, and more, and more...until you can't anymore. Until your imaginative and prescient is spinning and all those desirable feelings go wrong, and suddenly everyone's guffawing at you due to the fact you cannot manage yourself. You begin to hate the side effects more than the ecstasy liquor can provide you with.

Unless you can handle your alcohol. I clearly can't.

Don't take advice from me.

My frame rolls over, cracking open a single eyelid to seize a glimpse of my window. Snow piled up on the floor, clouds circled within the sky, and the sun was nowhere to be visible. I groaned, slapping my hand over my eyes and wishing the ache in my sinus would leave. The throbbing of my migraine only made it worse, and it became difficult to open my eyes despite the sun's absence. Simply crawling away from bed appeared dreadful, and I could honestly barely feel my legs.

I pushed beyond my groggy feeling and pulled myself up so I was, as a minimum sitting in opposition to my headboard. I caught sight of myself in the mirror, still sporting last night's outfit, and my hair was a mess. Mascara smeared at the corners of my eyes, and puffy eyes showed proof that I cried hard last night. My fingertips latch themselves onto my hair as I attempt to comb out any knots. "Ew," I mumbled, feeling how greasy it changed into.

My throat burned like hell; I can't consider the number of instances I vomited last night. I could sense my stomach turning, indicating that I might not be done throwing up. Sighing, I pulled myself off the bed and went to my drawers to change my outfit. I glaringly needed a bath, but I at least wanted to call Marianne to let her know-

Wait.

My head jerks up in confusion, trying to gather my mind on last night. So much occurred, the concert, Andrew, Anne, Mitch, Sarah...and the interplay with Harry. Something feels out of the vicinity. The last thing I recall is leaving the restroom when Niall and Harry saw Andrew and me inside the bathroom. I gripped my counter, closing my eyes and trying to stay calm.

Did I black out right after that? That can't be feasible because I'm home, right? Marianne couldn't have driven me back because she was almost as inebriated as I was. So who the hell took me back home?

There's no way. there is no way that-

The door began to open. I gasped, falling back into my mattress and watching it open slowly. I feel my throat near up, gazing at him with scared eyes.

Harry.

"Oh, shit. I'm such a dick, I should have knocked. I thought you were still sleeping." He quickly apologizes, still standing within the doorway.