Murder City

Chapter Twenty-Three

23 | Aurora Bennett

Fletcher and I have been together for 6 months officially. 

We're cooped up in the corner of a packed bar, our table is so small our knees connect. Neither of us move. I like that. I'm not drinking, so instead of a glass in front of me, it's my own elbow's. I rest against the table, my head placed gently in my palms. The music blares all around us, making my head throb. "Ar.." Fletcher drunkenly mumbles, leaning forward too forcefully. His arm bangs against the table. His drink slightly spills onto the already sticky table. He puts the glass down, yet keeps one hand gripping the top, in a bridge hold. "Aura..." He grumbles, his free hand lifting up to messily comb through my hair. He twirls his finger around, collecting some, before releasing, letting it quickly swing back to it's natural position. 

"Yeah?" I can't stop myself from smiling when I see his face. "We.." He points to the door. Or, atleast, I think he is. 

I nod quickly, not wanting my future husband to be out drinking until early hours in the morning, especially when he's struggling now. I interlock my fingers with his, before standing. "Come on." I smile at him again, and he looks beyond handsome as he tries -and fails- to smile back.

I wake up, practically gasping for air.

Billie is stood beside the suitcases we packed last night, he's dressed in a baggy shirt, with his hair messy, as if he woke up minutes before I did. "You ready?" He asks, pulling up his sunglasses to look at me. I realize I'm covered in my own, cold sweat. That wasn't a nightmare. Or was it? Does my brain just categorize anything with Fletcher as something bad? 

I force a smile and nod. I'm excited to go on my first Green Day tour, but the dream stunted my excitement. I've never been out of California before, and I can't wait to see the rest of the world. My dad used to tell me about his travels. He'd go everywhere. He'd show me pictures of trip to India the most. It was his and my mother's honeymoon. They're both smiling in the pictures. I wonder what changed within them. What changed within my mother. I never asked her that when I called her, but I wouldn't dare to pick up the phone again.

"You aren't going to get dressed?" I ask, sitting up and rubbing my eye. Billie scoffs dramatically. "What, I am dressed!" He asserts, his faux angry expression shifting to a smile. "Come on. I'll make you a coffee." He says, leaving his suitcases behind to walk out of the room. "Billie?" I say, my voice strained. 

He turns, smiling at me.

"Could I have tea instead?" I ask. He nods before turning to leave. I hear him slowly walk down the steps and through the hallway.

Now, I am left alone. 

I stand from the bed, groaning as the warmth leaves my body. "Fuck." I say to nobody as I walk to my closet. I slide the door open, picking out the jeans and top I mentally picked for myself last night. But, my grip slips, and the clothing drops, I gag, rushing to the bathroom.

Retching into the toilet, I feel tears leak from my eyes. I cough, spitting out the horrid taste of vomit from my mouth, until another lot of vomit rushes from my throat, almost choking me. I grip my hair into a makeshift pony-tail, hurling into the toilet once more. As I pull away, I gasp for breath, feeling my stomach reset back to its original, safe, feeling. "Aurora?" I hear Billie's voice, muffled from behind the door. "I'm okay."

"You sure?"

I stand up, wiping my mouth with a tissue before tossing it into the toilet and flushing. "Yeah."