Sleepyhead

Help Me, I'm Naked

That night, I had wonderful dreams of doing the horizontal hokey-pokey, the nasty, if you will, with a certain brown haired boy bander.

And it was splendid, if you mind.

I suppose some damage control is in order, however. I’m not saying that I suddenly have this massive, crippling crush on Liam Payne. Quite the latter, actually, I’ve decided that he’s a far too charming young man who deserves nothing but the most perfect relationship. Which, I’m sure, he already has.

And me? I’m about as far away from being able to offer that.

Not like he’d accept. Okay. Gosh, I’m so very far ahead of myself. 

Liam Payne and I have shared one and a half conversations together and I’m already planning our best friend anniversary. I need to take a deep breath.

A step back.

I need to go back to sleep.

My lack of a good night’s sleep is really going to my head.

But unfortunately, that is quite impossible, seeing as next to me Astrid is typing away on her extremely motherfucking bright Macbook, while Reed is watching some stupid movie with the volume so motherfucking high, and Winnie blow drying her hair in the motherfucking bathroom with the motherfucking door open.

Motherfuckers.

“I want to sleep,” I moaned, rolling over so my face smashed into the pillow, kicking my legs in the air in a mild temper tantrum.

Mild, because you haven’t seen nothing yet.

“Then sleep,” Astrid replied dully, clicking away on the keyboard. Click. Click. Click. So obnoxious. Even more obnoxious? That’s she already curled her beautiful, perfect auburn hair that she insists is So Hideous, when in actuality she’s got the bloody best hair I’ve ever seen. 

Doesn’t she have any decency?

Doesn’t she knew that my feelings are obviously hurt in that she can look so gorgeous at nine in the morning whilst I look like someone yanked me up from the sewers? 

“I would if I could,” I groaned louder, smacking my fists against the bed. “But I can’t. So I won’t.”

“Clever,” Reed bit into the end of a licorice, her eyes not leaving the television screen. 

Bitch.

“I hate you all.”

“We love you too Sutton,” Astrid snickered, this time clicking around on her little portable mouse that makes an equally loud clicking sound from overuse. Click. Click. Click.

Bloody hell.

Correction: I hate everything.

With an annoyed grunt, I threw myself off the bed. Winnie was just finishing up in the bathroom and I seriously needed a shower. It had been more than two days since I last scrubbed my body clean of any and all dirt it accumulated. And my hair. My God. My hair looked disgusting. I was disgusting.

“Oi, let me shower.” I sighed, slipping past Winnie into the tiny little bathroom. 

She glared, “Just give me a couple of minutes.”

I bounced on my toes, whining, “But you woke me up and therefore you owe me.”

After another few minutes of our arguing, I ended up in the shower.

Ah, relief.

There’s something about a hot shower that makes me like to belt out whatever song is stuck in my head. Not sure whether it’s the fact that there really is nothing else to do besides soap up the ole body and scream at the top of your lungs, or because the acoustics in a shower really are top notch. Either way, when I’m in the shower, expect the melodic shouts of a tone-deaf eighteen year old.