1999

2. Too Stoned

The blaring rays of early morning sunlight seeped through the thin curtains, casting a stark light across Y/n's cluttered bedroom. The light hit her face with a sharpness that was impossible to ignore, rousing her from a restless sleep. She stirred beneath the rumpled sheets, her body reluctantly waking up to the reality of another day. Her makeup, a smudged remnant of yesterday's chaos, clung stubbornly to her skin, and her hair, a tangled mess of brown with stubborn red highlights, was a testament to her disregard for anything resembling self-care.

Y/n sat up slowly, her mind struggling to clear the fog of sleep. The crop top she wore—a black, faded garment that clung to her frame and exposed more than it covered—shifted with her movements, revealing a generous portion of her cleavage. The torn sweatpants she had slept in hung low on her hips, their frayed edges brushing against the mattress. She stretched lazily, the disheveled appearance a stark contrast to the orderly room she had once tried to keep.

With a groan, she shuffled out of bed, her feet hitting the cold floor with a reluctant thud. She glanced around her room, taking in the chaotic mix of band posters and empty soda cans scattered across the floor. Nirvana's familiar visage stared back at her from a poster on the wall, a relic of her teenage obsession.

Yawning and stretching, Y/n made her way to the kitchen. Her steps were slow, each movement reflecting her reluctance to fully embrace the day. As she entered the kitchen, the aroma of bacon and eggs greeted her, an olfactory contrast to the disarray of her bedroom. Her roommate, Jackie, was already up, bustling about with an efficiency that Y/n found both admirable and slightly irritating.

Jackie stood by the stove, expertly flipping pancakes with a flick of her wrist. She was dressed in a neat, casual outfit—a pair of jeans and a sweater that looked fresh out of the wash. The contrast between their morning appearances was stark, and Y/n couldn't help but notice it.

"Wow, look at you," Jackie said, her tone carrying a mix of disdain and exasperation. "You look like shit."

Y/n shot her a sarcastic smile, the corners of her mouth lifting in a way that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Thanks for the observation, Jackie," she replied, her voice dripping with a tired mockery. "I didn't realize my appearance was a topic of your concern."

Jackie didn't miss a beat. She rolled her eyes and continued with her breakfast preparations, clearly used to Y/n's sharp tongue. "Well, someone's got to point it out. Maybe if you put a little effort into your appearance, you wouldn't look like you just rolled out of a dumpster."

Y/n's eyes narrowed, her patience wearing thin. "Fuck off, Jackie," she said, her voice hardening. "You're nothing but a skanky piece of shit."

Jackie's reaction was immediate. She clamped her mouth shut, the retort dying on her lips. She turned her back to Y/n, focusing intently on her cooking, clearly choosing to avoid further confrontation. It was a silent victory for Y/n, one she accepted with a grim satisfaction.

With Jackie out of her way, Y/n turned her attention to the kitchen counter, where a meager assortment of breakfast items waited for her. She grabbed a few slices of bread from the torn bag on the counter, its contents looking as if it had been around for a little too long. She slathered one side of the bread with a thin layer of margarine, the knife scraping against the hard surface with a lack of finesse.

Next, she retrieved a couple of eggs from the fridge. The carton was nearly empty, and the remaining eggs were slightly past their prime. She cracked them open with a careless flick of her wrist, letting the contents spill into a pan that was already stained with remnants of previous meals. The sizzle of the eggs hitting the hot surface was comforting in its familiarity, though the eggs themselves were cooked unevenly, with some parts burnt and others still raw.