Weightless (H.S. BWWM)

It Was A Good Day

Stupid red swollen pimple. I awoke to see the fûcking monstrosity had decided to take it's leave on my jawline in all it's inflamed glory thanks to my lack of washing my face last night. It was another night like last month with Damien and Amita except this time Damien brought Taylor, his fiancé. We've pretty much become regulars at the karaoke bar even if it's just to have a drink after work. Somehow we always end up getting convinced to perform though. Last night we went for a drunken rendition of some 3LW song or was it The Cheetah Girls? Either way I'm sure we had a blast since the memories from the night are foggy as all get out.

Glancing in the mirror again I notice the bags under my eyes and the tired expression on my face. Yeah, last night was a doozey. I even have a bit of a hangover which never happens. Mostly because I normally don't drink enough to cause it but even when I do I can still wake up and be alright the next morning. The only reason I'm up right now is because I had to puke and laying back down quickly lost it's appeal when my head started to spin the second it hit the pillow.

I have no idea how I stayed up for hours writing once I got home last night but I did. Checking my phone I don't see any out of the ordinary comments from Spoodle about the chapter I uploaded so I figure it must've made sense. I've been writing more than usual lately and I love it.

My real life has been influencing my writing more and I can't help but feel it's making me a better author. My readers seem to be eating it up, devouring chapters in minutes and commenting for more. It's a bit overwhelming if I'm honest. I feel like I owe them not only just more chapters or dedication to my writing but so much more than that. Without them reading my stories I never would've discovered my passion for writing. Before I started uploading my books I lived an existence filled with trapped emotions and experiences that had nowhere to go. They'd spin around in my mind until I couldn't take it anymore and was ready to tear my hair out. Something magnificent happened to me the first time I sat down and wrote; I found my calling.

I slide my feet across the cold red wood of the floor. It feels good against my skin that's suspiciously hot. I hope I'm not coming down with something but if I am I'm glad I took off work today. I'll get a three day weekend so hopefully I can get over whatever this is.

My phone rings in my bedroom forcing me to rush back in and grab it from my nightstand. I smile when I see the caller ID.

"Hey mommy what are you doing off?"

She laughs, "I could ask you the same. Playing hooky? Like mother like daughter."

I take a seat on my bed sliding back against the headboard before replying, "At least I have an excuse. I'm feeling bad plus it's my six month anniversary of living in LA."

"Six months already?" she asks rhetorically, "God the time flew. It feels like yesterday you left. Venom is still moping around. She goes in your room and sits on your bed all the time."

That makes me sad. I can just imagine her stretched out in my bed waiting for me like she used to when I was at work.

"My poor baby," I groan, "Give her kisses for me."

"Of course," my mom replies, "Now what's this about you being sick?"

I sigh, wanting to lie but deciding instead to tell the truth, "I'm not sick like that I don't think, just hung over. I went out with my friends from work and we had a little too much fun."

I can just imagine the disappointed look on her face. She's silent for now but I know the lecture she's brewing up will make up tenfold for the lack of visual representation.

"Well that was pretty dumb," she exasperates, "You could've gotten into an accident and hurt yourself or someone else."

"None of us drove ma. We took taxis because we knew we'd be drinking," I offer trying to calm the bear I just poked.