Scratched

Forty

FORTY

______________________________

I would make an argument that there is not such thing as a good morning. But there is a clear difference between a bad morning and a worse one. As I woke up that morning it seemed like mine was going to be the later of the two. That became more obvious when I was ripped from sleep by a very loud, very unwelcome horn blaring in my ear.

I shot upright on the couch, nearly tumbling off the side as I did. I jerked my head around to see Toad grinning a toothy grin. Goddamn Toad. What was he thinking doing that at this time of the day? "What the hell, Toad!" I exclaimed angrily. At my words he just shrugged as if he couldn't be bothered to even answer me. I sighed, running a hand over my face.

"It was too good to pass up."

"Asshole," I grumbled at him.

As if I hadn't said anything he plopped down onto the couch, ripping open a breakfast sandwich. He promptly began devouring it. The smell hit me almost instantly, making my stomach turn. Urgh... Last night was coming back with a vengeance. I pushed at him with my feet, trying to dislodge him. He stayed put though, not even paying any mind to me.

"Toad! Take it somewhere else!"

"But I just started eating!" he said.

I opened my mouth to protest when the door of the bus burst open, slamming against the wall. I winced at the noise. "Good morning, beautiful!" crowed Callum as he threw himself down onto the opposite couch. I scoffed at his words. Yeah, I'm sure I just looked lovely—hair a mess and raccoon eyes. "You look rough, doll."

I ran a hand over my face, trying to rub some of the weariness off. It didn't do much. I pulled my hand away, looking at Callum. "I wander why?" I said sarcastically. He just laughed like I'd just delivered the best joke. I ignored him, moving on. "Why are you here, Cal?" Without so much as a word he tossed me a magazine. I held it up. "What's this?"

"Just give it a look, doll."

"Fine," I said, flipping it around to look at it. No sooner than I'd flipped it over did I see why he was so interested. Sprawled across the cover was a large, extremely attractive picture of me from the night before. I was stupid wasted. I groaned, reading the words along with it. Drinking again? Friends say she has a problem. "What the hell is this?"

It was ridiculous really. I didn't have a "problem" with anything. I did what I did for fun—not because I needed it. But it was more than that. When you see this you want to deny it. You want to say that all those things in the headlines are lies, but you can't. You can't because no matter how much they make you mad and you hate the press—you are what they say. You do drink too much. You do party too much. And you probably are an addict.

Just then the door burst open again, hitting the wall. This time I didn't jump. "Hey, Piper! I grabbed you some coffee. I knew you'd want it as soon as you woke...up..." he said, trailing off as he saw us all. I looked up, meeting his curious gaze. "What's going on?" It was then he saw the magazine, even as I was trying to hide it.