imagines | p.s.

shit-faced (1/2)

thank you sm for 12K reads

You couldn't quite remember exactly how you'd gotten on your kitchen floor, the entire room spinning and making you dizzy. You couldn't sit up right but, despite your confusion, you felt unnaturally giggly. You'd look at the plant in the corner, and burst into giggles.

You slowly reached into your pocket for your phone, which was still on and unlocked. For whatever reason, you wanted to text your boyfriend.

hhii bbab

Your fingers could barely let you type out the two words; they seemed to drift to different places on the keyboard or get stuck on certain letters.

It took a long time for Patrick to read the message, it seemed; probably about ten minutes. When you saw that he'd read it though, he didn't start typing. Instead, your phone started ringing a minute later.

You pressed the "answer" button. "Who's this?" You slurred out.

Even in your confused and disoriented state, you could make out Patrick's voice. "Baby, it's me. Why're you texting me so late?"

You frowned and your eyebrows knit together in confusion. "W-whadayou mean?"

Patrick sighed, sounding groggy. "It's three in the morning, sweetheart. Are you okay?"

You giggled into the phone. "I-I'm perrfect, baby. Why wouldn't I be?"

You could hear some shuffling on the other end of the phone. "Are you drunk?"

"N-no.."

Patrick scoffed a little. "Yeah, baby, I think you are. I'm coming to get you, okay? Are you at home?"

You looked around the room, which you'd assumed was your kitchen; same potted plants, same counters. "Y-yeah," you said.

"Alright, well, stay where you are, okay? I'm gonna come and make sure you're alright."

He hung up a few seconds later, leaving you confused and alone on the tiled floor. You rubbed your forehead a little- your head was starting to ache- and curled up on your side. You were determined to watch the front door for Patrick, but within minutes, you were fast asleep.

You woke up to Patrick gently shaking you, a bright light burning through your eyelids. You groaned, trying to sit up. "Patrick?"

You opened your eyes to see him nodding a little, eyebrows threaded together in concern. He brushed your hair back from your forehead and cupped your face in his hands. "Yeah, baby, it's me," he sighed. "Why're you on the kitchen floor?"

You shrugged: you didn't really know the answer to that yourself. "I.. I dunno," you said.

Patrick sighed, helping you to sit up straight. "Well, you're in pajamas, so I guess you've been here all night," he said, nodding toward your plaid pajama pants and t-shirt. You yawned a bit.

"I-I guess," you said slowly. You tried to stand up, but your feet were moving slower than your brain was telling them to. After a second, you got frustrated and sat back down (more like fell, but that's beside the point).

Patrick put his hand on your sides and stood slowly, helping to steady you. He let you lean against him and rubbed circles in between your shoulder blades.

"You know you're going to regret getting shit faced in the morning, right?" He teased.

You turned your face against his shoulder, groaning. "Mm.. I guess."

"You guess?" Patrick laughed. "Anyways, too bad you're a clumsy drunk. Let me help you upstairs."

honestly this was a better idea in my head than it was typed out.