The Revolution of Art

Chapter II

I woke up feeling an unusual weight over my posterior. Fuck, it wasn't Jordan's. An unfamiliar presence was lying next to me on a one-sized bed, his lips pressed coldly on the outside of my forearm. I blinked a few times in order to try recognizing the new face standing right beside me. A quick flash of anxiety shove a spring into my numb body; I practically jumped out of bed, hurriedly grabbing my clothes thrown all around the bed.

When I was done fumbling with my jeans, I was already out the door. I put my sweater on in the hallway. I checked for my phone and found a few dollars dumped in the back of my pocket.

What the fuck have I done last night? And more importantly, who the fuck was that guy?

I climbed down the stairs two at once, starting to ask myself another existential question: where the fuck am I?

When I reached the ground floor, a plain face welcomed me behind a counter. I approached the lady with growing unease.

"I'm sorry, where are we?" I blurted without a second thought. My mental hands mentally slapped my mental face. 'Are you suffering of Alzheimer, kid?' would be the answer I was expecting.

Instead, her features fell... only to form a somewhat surprised, somewhat understanding figure. She must have seen me coming in last night, she must have. Please tell me she has.

"Motel 63," she told me, as if that was supposed to give me any hint. "Are you all right? Do you want me to call the police?" she pointed towards the first floor, as if I would have been raped. So she has seen me. God only if she knew... God only if I knew..

"No, no," I reassured her. "A cab would do just fine."

She hesitated, but eventually picked up the phone and pressed some buttons.

"What happened last night?"

I looked at my phone, seeing it was only a bit past 8. I tried to recall what I did last night, but apart of leaving home and entering an almost empty club, everything is left in a blank space. I remember the bar started to crowd soon after the show of some strippers began; I was too occupied with my drink to care anyway. It wasn't even my drink, I think it was a shot some guy must have bought me. But it still doesn't ring any bell to what I did afterwards.

She looked at me with some scared eyes, almost frightened. "You came in after midnight, that guy," she pointed towards the stairs again, "basically dragging you in a room after he checked in. He's been sleeping here for the past week, I think he must have broken up with his girlfriend or some shit. Were you on drugs?"

I sighed, running a hand through my ruffled hair. I don't even want to look in the mirror.

"No," I answered, but I was quick to reconsider. "I don't know," was my final conclusion, taken with a strong frown.

I unlocked my phone again in a nervous gesture, and took a quick glance at the time and date unconsciously. 8:23, 12 December. Oh God. Oh no.

Fuck.

Today is the day of the audition for that camp.

At 9 o'clock.

Oh dear Lord.

The cab arrived at 8:25, and put off a record of 30 minutes on a 45-minute route with the best traffic. The woman hadn't hesitated to pursue me into promising her I'll take care of myself, and I was already on the edge of tears. This was my chance of taking care of myself. This was my chance of doing something worthy of my year, of my life, and beginning something new, letting go of the past and finally noticing a future.