Blackout

Chapter II

I awoke at the touch of my satin sheets against my bare back and the blinding rays of the sun peeking through my window curtains. I rubbed my eyes and buried my face under my sheets, but after what little silence I could get, my alarm burst to life, bursting my ear drums with its screeching high pitch audio. I clamped my hands over my ears and screamed as if I were being torched, I might as well be. It only took a few seconds until Sampson ran into the room.

"Sir, what's happened?" He said.

I kicked my sheets off my face and sat up to hit the life out of the alarm. The room was in silence once again, and when the buzzing finally vanished from my aching head, I transitioned to the horror that was my room. My clothes were all over the floors and my sheets look as if I hadn't left bed in ages, but that wasn't the worst part of it. I turned and saw my bed-ridden reflection sitting with nothing, but sheets covering his legs and shame hiding his face.

"Oh no," I said at the sight. "Did this actually happen?" I said, running my fingers through my hair as I could not pry my eyes away from the glass. I didn't hear Sampson respond quickly as he normally does, forcing me to look at him and push him to respond. "Sampson?"

Sampson pulled himself from his face of daydreaming and returned all thoughts back into my room. "Hm?" He said, looking at me and holding his hands behind his back, but within that one second of a worrisome gaze from me, he instantly knew. "Oh," he remembered. "The bartender, right," he said starting off awkwardly. "Well, he was here, that would explain the sheets and your hair," my eyes widened at the terrible words, "but," he continued, giving my heart a leap of redemption, "lucky for you, I was right behind you. I stopped it all, just when it was starting to get out of hand."

"'Get out of hand'?" I repeated. "What does that mean?"

Sampson took in a deep, uncomfortable breath, "Well," he said, trying to avoid any means of eye contact with me, "the bartender tried to get me..." his voice trailed off as my eyes widened even more, "but I didn't," he stopped in. My breath fell short. "I told him to get out."

"Was that all?" I felt nothing, but morse regret and inexplicable emotions that ran through my head as I just sat there with nothing but a mere sheet to cover the last few ounces of dignity I have left.

"Well," he said, making me look at him with utter fear, "not quite."

My eyebrows furrowed as I sat up straighter. Sampson sighed and sat at the foot of my bed, but he immediately got to his feet. He gave me an unsettling glance and a malicious smile peaking at the corner of his lips.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts, sir," he said finally. He turned and exited the room, closing the door slowly as he passed.

"Sampson," I called out after him, throwing a pillow at him and seeing him close the door behind him his slick eye being the last thing I saw. I let out a loud, hard sigh and threw myself back against my pillow. I rubbed my head, feeling a little better being this was the first time I ever got a hangover in over three months.

I pulled myself out from my covers and walked into the bathroom. I saw the small, pale piece of life that I have become with swollen eyes that weren't there last night, but I didn't want to think about how I got the red eyes. I couldn't handle it.

I opened the glass door to the shower and turned on the faucet, letting the cold water run on my palm as I adjusted it to become hotter. It wasn't long until it was a good temperature. I stepped into the shower cubicle and drenched my hair, seeing fog climb up the shower wall and attach itself to the mirrors outside. I rubbed my skin of the disgusting everything from last night, the stench of vodka and other things I couldn't identify, but I knew it would take more than one shower to get it off. Not even the fresh scent of Dove could lift the gross mixology.