• Tomorrow Will Be Different • {J.C} (P.1)

•Chapter Forty•

•A/N•
According to the comments, part II seems to be unanimous;
As soon as I wrap this bitch up, I'll start on part II
I really appreciate everyone's input, thank you so much for reading!
❤️❤️❤️

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        Julian stumbled up the stoop, nearly dropping his keys. He tried to act sober in front of Erin, but perhaps stopping off at St. Mark's Place for a pint of liquor wasn't the best decision.

The look Erin had given him in the backseat of that cab made him feel uneasy; it weighed heavily in his chest, sinking into his stomach.

That look had meant something, but Julian couldn't be sure exactly what—or if he even really wanted to know.

What Julian did know, was the way it made him feel. Although that look was intoxicating, Jules knew not to get too comfortable with it—it would be leaving soon.
        ...And so would she.

        "Here, let me do it." Erin spoke sternly with a giggle hiding in her throat.

"I got it- don't ch'you even worry about it." Julian slurred, pointing his finger at Erin as he squinted his left eye shut.

"You're drunk."

"And so are you." Julian flashed a lopsided grin while bending his knees, trying make himself eye-level with the keyhole.

He was surprised by how well Erin seemed to hold her liquor; passing her the pint occasionally as they strolled several blocks back to the apartment.

        "Yeah, but I'm not too drunk to put a key in a hole."

"Trust me baby, I can put more than just a key in a hole right about now."

"Pervert." Erin mumbled with folded arms and a smile, watching Julian finally managed to unlock the door.

       He stumbled into the apartment, bumping into the doorframe. Julian could swear he wasn't as drunk as he appeared.

Perhaps he had stood still for too long; or perhaps it was the added pressure of trying to unlocking the door with Erin standing next to him—judging his every move.

There could never be enough alcohol to protect Julian from the irrational fear of disappointing Erin.

        "Goddamn... I'm only gone for a day and the place is... spotless. What the fuck is wrong with you?" Julian spoke rhetorically, observing the living room in wild fascination.     
      "This place was a pigsty when I left."

"Still smells like one." Erin said as she closed the door before locking up the apartment. "Don't worry, the floor of your bedroom is still littered with beer bottles—I didn't touch those."

        "You've been in my room? How come you don't go in there when I'm here, but think it's okay when I'm not?"

"I tried talking to you, but you weren't home." Erin slinked out of her jacket, taking out the bobby-pins and claw clip from her hair, tossing the pieces onto the couch.

She leaned against the wall to unzip her boots, only to find that the room was spinning around her.

She started toward the swivel chair in the corner. It's seemed easier to reach than the sofa, judging from the obstacle she'd have to encounter in order to get there—the coffee table. Erin needed to sit down, before gravity had a chance to overtake her.