Finding My Place

The Morning After

Oh dear fucking god, AWWW. I cracked open one eye and looked at my surroundings to find some sort of familiarity, and hydration. At the sight of my pile of neglected washing, and spilled evidence of abandoned beauty products, indicated that I had somehow made my way home last night.

I craned my head, which pulsed in protest at the movement, and reached for the water on the nightstand. The sudden ache from the biceps radiated down my body and hit my toes. I chugged the water like some camel who had completed their journey through the pyramids.

I gingerly began to drag my throbbing body up my bed, resting my back against the headboard. The illuminating sunshine penetrated the open blinds. Like dracula faced with the same weakness, I hissed through my teeth and shielded my eyes to protect my retinas and dehydrated brain cells.

As my vision begins to clear, I slowly turned to look around my room for evidence of last night's actions. Relief as I am the sole body in the bed, thank fuck. While drinking like I was 20 again was one thing, fucking strangers like im in freshers year was something I did not wish to relive.

I shifted, with loud protest from my whole body, and began to assess for club stamps, new bruises from clumsy misfortunes and ensured all my rings, bracelet and necklace were still on my person.

As I ticked through the inventory, all jewelry present and correct, I noticed I'm still in last nights attire, boots and all. What a fucking mess! I dragged myself upright, the room acted like I'm in the middle of waltzers, my headache felt like I was being wacked by bumper cars.

Battling through the sadistic fair ground, I stood wobbly to my feet. The toxic cocktail of last night's beverage threatened to make a reappearance. Deep breath, i can fucking do this! Then there it was, in the corner of my room, a bright orange polystyrene container. The reminence of last night's kebab fought with the lid to make its great escape. That did it!

The need to avoid puking reincarnated rum and cokes all over the shaggy cream carpet rug was the shot of adeneline I required. I leaped to the bedroom door, flung it open and bolted to the bathroom. No time to shut it. I had barely lifted the lid before the remake of the exorcist ensued. Fuck me, how much liquid can ones stomach contain at a time!

The once warm and conforting rum, now burned through my mouth and nose. Snaked around the toilet bowl feeling sorry for myself while the air filled with the odurs of tequila (Jen the bitch), and stale kebab, the sound of a door opening caught my attention.

" Good Night, was it?"

While I did not possess the energy to lift my head, I let out a groan into the toilet bowl, which echoed and vibrated the porcelain sick bucket.

My housemate Ethan and I met at work. A local cornershop. Forever bonded over traumas of Karen's complaining about their late paper delivery, and putting away the dreaded Thursday Delivery while servicing the queue of customers on pension day. The shop has since closed,  but Ethan and I stayed good friends, and moved in together a year ago.

"Where did you end up last night?" Ethan asked, the smirk audible from toilet sunken head.

"Pam....." heaving into the toilet, the final reminence of lasts night's contents note soaked into the blood stream left my body.

Ethan closed the bathroom door to save the rest of the flat from smelling of regret.

"Fuck me!" I moaned as I finally lifted my head.

Ethan had turned the bathroom light on before escaping from the scene. It took a minute to adjust the senses. I closed the lid of the toilet and grabbed some toilet roll to wipe my face. Deep breath.