The Shadow Men

TWO

Just how much beer did he have again? Blair asked himself, not being able to recall on the exact number that he drank but fucking hell was he ever regretting that decision. He was always told to not go from one alcoholic beverage to another, and what did he do? Well, of course he had to do the opposite of what he was told not to. His head pounded and his stomach churned dangerously at even the smallest of movements caused him horrible discomfort.

Yep. Definitely fucking regretting it, for sure. Blair took deep breaths to try and calm the pain in his head and the relentless nausea that assaulted him as he struggled to find the annoying alarm clock that was beeping, nagging at him to turn the damn thing off.

He mulled over his options at that point, wondering whether or not he should just go back to sleep or actually get his ass up, dressed, and ready for the day. As the pain in his head throbbed with the sound of the alarm slowly increasing in volume, Blair was thinking that the decision he was about to make would be an easy one.

Unfortunately, Blair knew that if he didn't go for his morning run then he wouldn't go at all. And if he didn't go at all it'd become a habit and that was a habit that he refused to give up.

Even if he did have a wicked hangover.

Cursing and fighting back the wave of nausea that swept over him like a damn tidal wave slamming against a small island, Blair sat up, closing his eyes tight for a few moments. He waited for everything to settle down first before reaching over, feeling around for the cord, and yanking the damn thing out of the socket.

Silence instantly followed.

He sat there for a moment, contemplating again, whether or not he should take some Gravol and Advil and go back to sleep or suck it up and go for his run.

Blair sighed, groaning as he muttered fuck it, taking a deep breath and pushed himself off the bed. At least it was still, somewhat, dark outside, he mused to himself. Making his way into the bathroom, he grabbed the Advil and Gravol, practically shoving them into his mouth, turning on the water, cupping his hand under the faucet then drinking.

Some may call him lazy, but at least he wouldn't have to dirty an extra glass.

Glancing into the mirror, Blair saw that his messy light-brown hair was all over the place. It reminded him of when he was a child and would rub a balloon on the top of his head, static causing his hair to stand on end. His skin was unusually pale and his light grey eyes held bags under them.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that he hadn't slept in awhile and it most definitely wasn't hard to guess that it was because of Carlos.

The death left everyone feeling unsettled by what had taken place, not just him, though he was hit pretty damn hard.

Could he, himself, have done something that would've changed Carlos' fate? Maybe if he had gone out with him to the bar that night...

No.

He shouldn't think about that.

It wasn't his fault.

But why, why for the love of God, did he convince himself otherwise? He wasn't the one who killed him. You may as well have had done it, a voice in his head sneered, mocking him.

One thing just wouldn't let up in his mind and it was that he should've gone with him. He should've.

There was also nothing that he could do about it so why was he still mulling over it?