Septiplier One Shots

A Different Day

(Seán's P.O.V.)

Every day is different. Now, that's true for everyone. But for me, it's even more different. Because every day I wake up in someone else's body. I don't have a body of my own, I'm always in someone else's, and it's only for 24 hours. Always a guy. Always the age I am (so, 27 now). Those are the only things that stay the same.

I have been in the body of businessmen, and homeless people. I have been in the body of drunks, and addicts. I have been in the body of ill, and healthy. Rich and poor. Everything. It has been going on for my entire life. 9,919 days. Tomorrow when I wake up it will be the 9,920th day. April 13th, 2017. 65 days after my birthday. 

I remember every day. I remember being an infant. I remember being a toddler, and a kid, and a teen. I remember every name and I keep every memory. And every day when I wake up in someone else's body I access their memories as to not arouse suspicion. I live their life in the way they would, with some exceptions sometimes. 

But ever since 52 days ago, when I just so happened to be in his body, I haven't been the same. 52 days ago I was in the body of a man named Jase. He was honestly annoying and I didn't really like him. But that day he just so happened to have plans to hang out with his boyfriend Mark.

And ever since I met Mark, I knew I broke the number one rule I set for myself. 

I grew attached and... I'm pretty sure I love him.

***

I wake up. It's April 13th, 2017. I don't want to open my eyes. My head is pounding, and the light is already to bright even with my eyelids closed. Hungover. Great. Eventually I do open my eyes, slowly adjusting to the light. I notice a few things first. The fact that I have no clothes on, the fact that I am hungover, and there is a naked girl next to me. I do not recognize her, even after using the memory of the man whose life I've taken over for a day.

Probably a one night stand. Wonderful. 

The man's name is Jack. I already know what I should do. Get my clothes and get out of there before she wakes up. This is not the first time he's done this, and it will not be the last. He never waits. He always gets up and leaves, just wanting fun before he goes on to the next unlucky person, boy or girl. But I'm not that heartless.

I quickly dress, writing a quick apology on a piece of paper and putting it by the girls glasses that are placed neatly on the end table. Then, putting on the beanie I found thrown by the front door, I head out. I walk down the street, sighing. What else do I know about this person?

We're in downtown LA (where I normally end up), and he is of Irish origins. His hair is unkept, badly needing to be cut. That goes to show how he probably lives. Without needing to think much I find myself following a familiar path. Probably back to his house. And once I get there, I am not surprised to find glass bottles and a completely untidy living space. 

There are no roommates. He has no family. He has no one. His job is crap, and he luckily has the day off. The only thing he lives for is having fun every few nights. That's all he cares about. Sex and drinking. I groan, quickly walking to the cabinet where there is undoubtedly some pain killers. After all, this is not an unusual occurrence. 

I take the pills, before grabbing sunglasses and walking out of the apartment. I don't want to be in that place. I want to walk outside. Not like he'll care. Just like the rest of them, he won't remember anything. I can just be myself today. In fact, if I found out a way to do it, I could be myself every day in this body. He wouldn't care. No one would.