Unpredictable | Luke Hemmings & Calum Hood. (Cake/5SOS)

Chapter 12

beep beep beep beep beep beep*

Uggh, what the hell is that horrid sound? I groan out loud at all the noise coming from my night stand. When I try and turn to face the disturbance, I groan again and quickly regret even thinking about moving, let alone actually moving. My head feels heavy on my pillow, and it aches with pain. I don't have the strength to turn my body on the bed from the wall, but force myself to because the noise is getting irritating.

As I turn, my body aches and I groan out loud again. I reach my hand towards the night stand stretching. Then realizing that the front side of my bed is tucked away neatly as if someone made it. I think to myself what the hell? Then glance at the side of the bed I'm laying on and realize what a wrinkled mess it looks like. I lay there puzzled still very confused with it all while still trying to stretch. I shake the uneasy feeling and ignore it. Maybe I decided to sleep on one side of the bed last night, I say out loud, putting my self at ease.

I grab my phone from the night stand to see many text messages from my girlfriend, Vanessa. The time in my phone reads 9:30am. Disgust fills me; I'm so tired of her, but I really miss her and at the same time I want nothing to do with her. Why is she constantly texting me at this hour? Shouldn't she be taking pictures of the sky or something for her photography class or at least getting ready for class? I slide my phone open and immediately turn the brightness down for my eyes' benefit.

Once I can finally look at my screen without wanting to scratch my eye sockets out, I read threw all her messages. When I'm finished reading, I quickly sprint up in my bed rapidity. Fuck, I did that too fast, now my head aches way more than it did. I'm probably the worst boyfriend ever. How do I forget my own girlfriend flying in to see me? I look down at myself, and realize I'm wearing my favorite shirt that says polaroid in lots of colors on it with the camera on the front. I then look to the ground to see my clothes in the floor, then I look to see my brown boxes are opened. I slowly began to get up from my bed clutching my phone in hand. I slump towards the floor grabbing the clothes that lay on the ground perfectly folded and examine them as if they aren't even mine.

I bring the clothing up to my nose, realizing they reek of alcohol and then it suddenly hits me. I went to Luke's birthday yesterday, and I remember drinking in a corner alone, waiting for Luke who never showed himself to me, but was most certainly around remembering that I heard Ashton and Michael call him. But nothing after that seems to surface my mind, and I have complete memory of what happened before Luke was happy to see me and wanted me to come to the party. Why didn't he look for me then? Why had I just sat there all night and drank? How the hell did I even get home? I probably drove drunk, I mean it wouldn't be a first time. At least I made it home in one piece this time, I thought to myself. Maybe I got drunk, drove myself home, changed and climbed into bed. Yeah, that's what most likely happened. Knowing me, I probably didn't wanna put up with Luke's shit.

My phone beeps again, taking me out if my very vague thoughts of last nights happening.

V; babe, I'm here. Come pick me up! I can't wait to see you!

I roll my eye's while reading and reply back with something simple not wanting to show how annoyed I am, and how much I rather stay home and sleep off my hangover. Vanessa has an issue with drunks. She despises them. I remember we got into this huge argument when I went to her house drunk off my ass after spending a night with the boys. She dumped me and then took me back the next day. That's just how we always were.

"I'm on my way, slept in late. Be there soon" I hit sent and tried to pick myself up from the floor to head towards the bathroom.

This weird feeling hit me as I stepped foot into my bathroom. It smelled cleaner than usual, like someone recently cleaned it. Which makes no sense because my mother would never clean my bathroom. It could be as disgusting as a junkyard and she still would never touch it. Something about me being a man so I should do it myself. I don't understand. She's my mother; she should do it! As these thoughts of my mother cleaning my bathroom come to mind, I walk towards the sink and pass my fingers on the marble counter top. Not a dust spec in sight. Crystal clean, so clean I can see my reflection in it. When my finger passes the sink, my stomach churns and I grab it in pain. My stomach begins to grumble. Ugh, and an unwanted feeling comes to my throat. Not the feeling I get when I throw up, but the feeling I get after I've thrown up. I stand there confused still look down at the sink with my fingers grazing upon it. Did I throw up last night? Did someone clean it? All these things come to my mind, and they have to be right for my bathroom to be this clean. But who the hell would actually clean it? I mean even I wouldn't clean, I'd leave it there till morning like I always do.