The Devil Wears Girl Jeans [BEING EDITED]

The Devil Wears Girl Jeans (Chapter 22)

I woke up a few hours later, and was immediately confused by that weird feeling you get when you fall asleep at someone else's house, and then forget where you are when you wake up.

I stared at the unfamiliar light blue ceiling of Tristan's living room for a while, counting the little chips and cracks in the paint that had accumulated over the years, until I realized something wasn't right. My pillow was hard, bony, and felt an awful lot like a teenage boy.

"Your head is crushing me and you look like hell." Tristan informed me.

Ideally, I would have shot back a super crazy insult that would've ruined his life, such as, “I know you are, but what am I?”

Instead, I vomited all over his chest.

“Cute.” he groaned, staring down at the mess that had once been a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt.

If it hadn't have been for the fact that I was already sprinting for the bathroom, there was a slight chance that I would have apologized.

I collapsed onto the tiled floor and heaved into the toilet bowl, all too aware that Seth had come home at some point during my nap, and was now staring at me as I emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

“You're so attractive, I don't know why you're single.” Seth commented, and I flipped my sweat soaked hair out of my eyes.

“Piss off, Seth.”

“Looks like someone had her bitch flakes for breakfast this morning, jeez.”

I ignored him and stood up, rummaging through the medicine cabinet for toothpaste, mouth wash, or anything else that would be able to get the taste of vomit out of my mouth. Some sort of acid would have been preferred, but I'd take what I could get.

I pulled a nearly full bottle of green liquid out of the cupboard, which, as it turns out, had been specifically placed there to hide the yellow, Big Bird-shaped bottle of face wash behind it. “SETH” was scribbled across it in Sharpie, and I shot him a quizzical look.

“I can explain.” he said, turning a bright shade of scarlet, “Tristan went shopping and I asked him to buy me face wash. He asked what kind, and, being a sarcastic asshole, I told him to get me Sesame Street brand for all I cared. Tristan, also being a sarcastic asshole, actually did.”

“Sounds like something he would do.” I agreed, taking a swig of the mouth wash. I held it until my mouth started to burn and I could no longer taste the leftover bile in my mouth, before spitting it out and watching it swirl down the drain.

I still had no idea what time it was, or how long I'd been asleep, but I was mildly curious as to why my mom didn't care that I hadn't come home from school. I also had that nagging feeling in the back of my head that you get when you know you're forgetting something, but I couldn't figure out what it was.