Terrible Habits

Dumb Luck.

I feel my eyes flutter as they adjust to the right light above me. I push myself up so that I am sitting up on the bed and notice Tate lying on his stomach next to me on the large California King bed packed with plush white sheets. We must have landed at his place, recognizing the Smush Room he so fittingly calls it. I run my hand across my face and rub my eyes. I pull my hand away and its covered in black smudges from my eye makeup. I don't even want to know what I look like right now. I am in the middle of the bed so I roll the other body on the other side away from me and climb out. I grab the dress from last night and slip it on over my underwear. I realize I am still wearing a crown from the night before and I grimace, tossing it aside. I grab my high heels next, picking them up from under the bed by the straps and throw them over my shoulder. I scan the room, trying to locate my purse, pushing away articles of clothing on the floor aside, in attempt to find it.

"Morning," I hear someone grumble from the bed and I turn to see Tate still lying on his stomach but eyes open watching me.

"Bye," I raise my eyebrows, indicating that I don't want to talk. I bend over to continue my search when he slaps my ass and then rolls over onto his other side away from me. I roll my eyes and leave the room, the headache was coming hard with a vengeance.

There are people everywhere throughout the house, sprawled around on the couches, the chairs, one even asleep on the floor, but they aren't the faces of the people I know.

I run my hand through my tangled hair and groan. My mouth is so dry, probably the vodka's fault, I think as I scan the mansion. It is too quiet, I hate the quiet.

I roam the kitchen, checking under cups and garbage looking for the purse I had last night. The purse that contains my phone and wallet, things that are essential if I want to actually get home.

I grimace as I step in the sticky liquid that covers the floor from the layer of drinks spilled the night before. I hate the morning after. My headache is overwhelming from the sunlight that seems to penetrate every single crevice and window in the house and all I want to do was sleep the day away and wake up for another night.

The days and I never got along; the nights and I are casual acquaintances.

I reach under the couch cushions, stepping on someone as I hear them wince in pain.

"Sorry," I smile as I finally pulled by Chanel bag from the rubble.

"Kylie," I hiss, looking over the faces of people I barely recognize. Two are pressed up against each other on the couch, I lean around the couch, but its not Kylie. I wander outside and onto the pool deck to find her lying onto of someone topless, someone that isn't Dallas her boyfriend.

"Kyls," I say, stepping closer, the sun is already burning the pavement.

She lifts her head and forces her eyes open squinting, her blonde hair falls in her face as she looks back down at the body she is lying on. "Oops," she grimaces, carefully pushing herself off of him, I shake my head.

She pulls up her dress, slipping her arms through the steps and pulling the dress down, grabbing her shoes from the pool deck.

I eye her, stifling a smile. "Shut up," she shakes her head and stomps inside, me following her inside and then out the front door.

I blink into the sun and dig into my purse, grabbing my extra large sunglasses out and placing them on my face. A combination of a hangover and a headache hit me and I wish that I had something....

"God my head is pounding," Kylie rubs her temples, typing her address quickly into her phone.

"Same, do you have some back at the house?"