• A WATTPAD FEATURED STORY •
• highest rank | #92 in mystery/thriller •
Having two business partners for parents meant they worked extra long shifts, and possibly, an addition of night shifts. Therefore, being alone at home in the middle of the nigh...
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Mia was never going to do drugs again.
Well, not soon, anyway. The morning after was hazy, she had awakened with groggy eyes and a churning stomach. The girls' idea to have a mini get together on a school night obviously blew up in their faces, because in the morning, they fought over the shower and who would hog the mirror next; all drowsy from lack of sleep and all out of spirit from partying it out the night before. Mia was exhausted, to say the least.
She woke up in her own sleeping bag, having had moved there from Kiki's bed because she hadn't wanted to intrude, and hardly got any sleep due to the raucous that led from downstairs. She had wanted to go home but no one was in their right mind to drive, and she sure as hell was not going to call her dad, knowing that would lead to months of being grounded and a possible heart attack from her father.
By that time, Beverley was gone. Mia guessed she decided not to stay the night, things were messy after all. Even so, there was no way Mia would catch a ride with her, the atmosphere between them too frosty and biting. She doesn't blame her, though. For leaving. It was a dumb idea getting wasted and high on a school night.
Mia realized that, now, walking into school, her stomach making awkward sounds and her eyes sensitive to the beaming lights. She blinks, sometimes repeatedly, as if to hush her pounding head and blinded vision. Mia didn't know what the fuck she was thinking, getting shitfaced last night, of all nights. The aftermath was fucking terrible.
The hallways were busy with students, filling the area with a chorus of laughter and obnoxiously loud voices as she walked to her locker. She couldn't quite understand how one could be so lively so early in the morning, especially with the hangover she was sporting.
Mia was sure that they could notice it from her face, her distaste. She would shoot anyone who made too much of a loud noise a rather dirty glance. It was not their fault she felt like utter shit, though. She felt really fucking rough, and looked so, too.
Her unkempt curls were braided down her back, thick and imperfectly done, with minimal makeup other than the layers of concealer to camouflage her eyebags. She expected no less. You feel like shit, you look like shit.
The morning was awfully gloomy and chilly. Mia shivered under the layers of her black knitted sweater and presentably warm coat, hands digging into the pockets, fingers fidgeting with the contents in them: a tube of lipgloss, mint gum, and some tissues she had bought earlier. The night had done more bad than good, and it affected her body drastically.
She was awfully sleep deprived, muscles sore and aching from uncomfortable sleep, plus a runny nose from the biting chill. Mia considered turning back around and going home, but fought against it. She wouldn't want her dad to question her, not mentally prepared for that type of interrogation, knowing that he would understand if something was up.
