Paperboy. (h.s. au)

30.

I awake the next morning feeling like a pile of trash, surprise surprise.

Yes, I feel like this pretty much every morning. But this morning I'm extra garbage-y.

I know it's bad when I see the time on my phone- 11:32. I haven't slept in for a long time. I'm usually up drinking coffee and reading the paper that our lovely paperboy has delivered.

The very thought of the paperboy makes me shiver. Because with those thoughts come feelings and the feelings bring along fear. And fear brings- you guessed it- even more fear!

So yeah. Not off to a super fantastic start. I haven't even gotten out of bed yet. I don't plan to, but my mother swings open my door to check on me. Upon seeing my "awake"ness, she frowns.

"I thought I'd let you sleep. But you have to take these pills before noon, so why don't you get out of bed now?" She prods me with medicine, but today I have no motivation to take those. A side affect of not taking them. I groan and lay my head down in the pillow. I try to stretch, but let out a frustrated huff when I feel that damned cast on my leg and the other one on my wrist, preventing me from having my freedom. They're like shackles, and I'm their grimy prisoner.

My mom sighs and leaves my room, leaving the door ajar to make sure I'll get up, which, again, I don't plan on doing.

My phone buzzes on my nightstand and I jump at the sudden noise, picking it up.

Harry: good morning :)

Uuuuuugh.

I sit up and slowly shift my broken leg from my bed to the floor, carefully lowering it to the wooden slats. Grabbing my crutches, I position them under my arms and cautiously ease myself off my bed into a standing position. My head still gets fuzzy when I stand up, and being a hypochondriac makes me think I'm about to pass out each time. I blink away the tiny black dots that crowd my vision and head out the bedroom door with my phone under my waistband.

I've found a fun way to go down the stairs on crutches is to not use your legs. Though my mother calls it "a fun way to break your neck," I try it anyway. I swing down the stairs as she watches me disapprovingly.

She hurried me into the kitchen, eager for me to start my day and get my life going. Haha.

"Here, sit. What do you want to eat? You have to eat before you take these," she sets down a large bottle of horse pills in front of me and I groan again. "Eat. What do you want?"

"Nothing." I have no appetite for anything but water right now. "Can I just drink something?"

"Noo, you have to eat. And drink. What about toast? I'll make you some toast." She really needs to stop being crazy.

Says me.

I just nod tiredly and set my head down. Soon enough, I hear the pop of the toaster and then feel the warmth of toasted bread waft up into my face. I lift my head up when my phone buzzes, and it's Harry again.

im going to mcdonalds do you want anything?

Why. Why. WHY.

Why does the boy have to be so precious.

no, thanks. :)