You'll Be The Death Of Me

Violet

Bright, grey light blinks my eyes awake. My hand brushes over the familiar material around me. I sit up slowly, head pounding and throbbing, and lean on my elbows. How did I get in my own bed?

My head falls against the soft, welcoming pillows again. My eyes flutter over to the window, a crack in the curtains showing the sky. A dull, dreary sky.

Although I presume I should feel fine, other than one hell of a hangover, there's a deep, ache in the pit of stomach. I feel shaken up. Something's wrong.

"Fuck." I whisper. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

My ears pick up noise downstairs. My parents are still out of town. I know it can't be Tate. I hope it's not Tate. But then again, I also hope it is. I shake my head, hoping the jumble of confusing thoughts will shake out. Forget Tate. Asshole.

My bare feet pad along the icy, wooden floors, as I wrap my black dressing gown over my slim figure. I feel unnerved that I fell asleep in my underwear. I know I was drunk. Oh, hell, I was more than drunk; fucking wasted. I can't remember a thing after Tom getting the first round of shots! But I hate to be too exposed, even when I'm by myself. And it's not like I've ever had a significant other I was prepared to expose my flesh too, even Luke.

Well... There was Tate, but he could hardly count. We weren't really together anyway, so I shouldn't dwell on him. Just forget about him, Violet. He's an asshole.

Downstairs, I wander into the kitchen to see a rough-looking Tom, seated at the kitchen table, but completely slumped over and fallen in make-up sleep for drinking so much last night. His limp hand holds a half empty glass of water.

I should be freaking out. I don't know who Tom really is to be honest, but I make myself a glass of water, pop a paracetamol out of silver packet and take the pill with a refreshing sip of the cool liquid. As soon as I slam my glass on the table, scrape the chair back and sit down, Tom is looking groggy, but awake.

His half shut eyes notice me and a faint smile is plastered on his face.

"Morning, princess."

"Morning, fuckhead."

"Fuckhead?" Tom questions, voice croaky and deep.

"Yeah, you give me a nickname and I return the favour."

Tom chuckles, arching his back and stretching his arms up. I try to avoid starring at his toned biceps. I'm not normally into that type of thing - if I'm into anything at all - but God damn.

My thoughts return to Tate. Tate and Madison. Tate and me...

"Why the long face?" Tom questions, sipping his water.

"God, I can't stop thinking about Tate." I groan, placing my head in my hands.

"Oh. Well, fuck him. If people start ruining your life, their not worth being apart of it." Tom says.

"Yeah, fuck him." Even as I say those words, I know my body rejects the whole concept. I could never hate Tate. He's too much in my life now to just ... Go. But he's gone.

Tom pats my shoulder sympathetically and stands up. "As much as I would like to stay and help, I hardly know you, princess, and this hangover must be nursed by sleep. Catch ya later, Vi." He calls, squeezing my arm gently and grabbing his coat.

"Bye." I reply, watching him grin and close the door.

I pick myself up and lazily trudge to my bed. The comforting darkness of my bedroom is enough to chill me out slightly. I tug the dressing gown off and wrap myself in the fluffy duvet.

My tears drip down my nose, tickling slightly, and make damp patches on my pillow. I feel the throbbing of my blood pumping around my body as I sob, loud and horribly, my painful moans echoing through the empty house. I feel so alone. So lonely. Not even my Mum and Dad are here anymore. It's just me. It's just Violet. By herself all over again. And school's going to be a bitch.