An Angel Wears Hightops [A Sequel to The Devil Wears Girl Jeans]

An Angel Wears Hightops (Chapter 21)

YO THIS IS FROM MICKEY'S POINT OF VIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Toweling off my damp hair, I regarded my reflection in the mirror with an unimpressed scowl. It was my first day of real school, like, ever, and I'd originally wanted to make a good impression on the rest of the kids. As I gazed into the mirror though, I quickly realized that there was no way that that was going to be possible. Lack of sleep had left dark rings around my eyes, and my skin was so washed out looking, it was almost grey. I looked like a zombie. A ridiculously good looking zombie.

I pushed away from the counter with a loud sigh, wrapping one of Blake's towels around my waist as I headed back towards the spare room to change. Since Poe and I no longer had an apartment, Blake had been nice enough to let us move into his place until we found our own. Since we had nothing though, this also meant that I was stuck borrowing Blake's clothes too, which sucked since he had the body of Jack Skellington, and, well, I didn't.

After rolling up the ends of his jeans a few times, I shuffled over to his dresser, sifting through the mounds of t-shirts in his drawer before settling on one that was advertising some local band. It smelled vaguely of nacho cheese and had a few questionable stains on it, but beggars can't be choosers, right?

“Poe, are you gonna give me a ride?” I called, sliding on my glasses as I shuffled into the hallway, coming to a stop when I saw him sprawled out face-up on the carpet. Around him was several empty cans of beer, an empty bottle of gin, and a 2-6 of vodka that only had a few inches of liquid left in the bottom.

“Are you serious right now? Why are they all empty? Oh my god, did you drink them all?” I asked in horror as he moaned, rolling onto his side slowly.

“They are... my friends, Wendy.” he slurred, glancing at me through narrowed eyes.

“My name's not Wendy, you dumbass. Get up.”

“No.”

“Why are you on the carpet anyways? There's a couch literally two steps away.”

“Because I hate my life.”

“Isn't there a better way to deal with that instead of getting black out drunk?” I asked him, raking my fingers through my hair anxiously, probably causing it to stick up everywhere. I couldn't care less about making a good impression anymore, though. The kids at school could think what they wanted.

“Probably.” he replied with a yawn, reaching for the remaining vodka to his left. I kicked it away from him and grabbed his wrist, his reflexes too impaired to even try and fight me off as I attempted to haul him to his feet.

“We have shit to do, get up.” I grunted, but Poe was too heavy for me to lift, and he just slumped back down onto the carpet with a dull thud as I gave up and let go.

“I was gonna so stuff... but then I remembered alcohol exists.” he slurred back, flopping over onto his stomach so that he couldn't see me anymore.

“Why are you doing this to yourself, Poe?”

“Because I deserve it.” he said with a hiccup, and I rolled my eyes in annoyance.

“I heard you can get rid of your hiccups if you punch yourself really, really, hard in the face.” I told him, gazing down at him with a serious expression. He blinked very slowly, glancing from me, to his fist, and then back to me. His body shook with another hiccup, and he didn't so much punch himself, as he did just fall into his fist. I regarded him for another second, taking in his lanky, pale frame, as he started to doze off, his eye an angry red colour where he had hit it.