Beyond Music

Finding Me Again

I woke up with the sun burning my face as it seemed relentlessly through my blinds. I yawned, stretched, and was greeted with a massive headache indicative of a hangover. I groaned, trying to remember what happened last night, but my memory was hazy. I had promised myself I would never get this drunk again, not after what happened at that college party years ago. But here I was, hungover and regretting my decision to let loose.

I was in my quiet bedroom, perched on the edge of the recliner, when I suddenly woke up for the second time in less than three hours. I couldn't even remember when I had come back upstairs or how I had fallen asleep. My head was still throbbing, my heart racing, and my body felt heavy and sluggish.

As I tried to make sense of my surroundings, I looked down and saw my phone still clutched in my hand. With a surge of curiosity, I checked my call log. Had I drunk-dialed or texted William in my drunken stupor? But to my relief, there was no trace of any contact with him. Only a dozen calls and a few texts to my sister, begging her to come over and promising her that she wouldn't believe the insanity that had just unfolded.

As I reluctantly pulled myself from the chair, I could feel the weight of guilt and disappointment weighing on my chest. I stumbled to the bathroom, my head pounding with every step. I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would wash away the shame I felt. But it only made me feel worse. I knew I shouldn't have drank, but I did, and now I was paying the price.

As I reached for the toothbrush, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot, my face flush and sickly. There was a new person staring back at me. And then, as if on cue, my stomach lurched and I ran to the toilet, throwing up the contents of last night's binge. The wine tasted even worse coming back up, a bitter reminder of my poor choices. I sat on the bathroom floor, hugging the toilet, feeling utterly disgusted with myself. But as I sat there, I could smell a delicious aroma coming from downstairs. My stomach growled in hunger, but I couldn't bring myself to move.

Who the hell is in the house?, I asked myself. Was it William, come to apologize or try to make amends again? Or was it someone else, someone scarier, lurking in the shadows? My brain was racked with questions; my body tensed with fear. But I couldn't stay frozen in the bathroom, I had to face whoever was in the house. I reached for the baseball bat I kept hidden in the bedroom. I took a deep breath and stood up, ready to defend myself and my home.

But as soon as I heard the music selection, I knew exactly who it was. I wanted to go downstairs, but my body wasn't ready for the task just yet. I was stuck in this self-destructive cycle, unable to break free from my own doubts and insecurities.

As I stood there, wallowing in self-pity, I realized that I was my own worst enemy at this point, so I made the decision to slowly get dressed and then make my way downstairs. I needed a few more minutes to mentally prepare myself to talk to my sister.

It took me longer than it should have, but eventually came downstairs dressed in an oversized tee and sweatpants with my hair still wet from showering. I walked into my kitchen, greeted by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. My sister, McKenzie, was humming a cheerful tune as she prepared breakfast.

"Good morning!" she said with a bright smile. "Today is going to be a great day, I can feel it!" my sister exclaimed.

I couldn't agree.

"Um, Mac, When did you get here?" I asked with confusion as I poured myself a cup of coffee and joined McKenzie at the table.

"Really Camille?" We talked last night on the phone. I came shortly after William left. I actually passed the bastard in the driveway on his way out.", McKenzie looked in awe as she twirled her curly strands between her index finger, simultaneously exposing the white of her eyes.