My Best Friend's Sister

Chapter 17

I awoke the next day with a splitting headache. I rubbed my temples and made my way to the bathroom at the end of the hall. Once I got there I searched the medicine cabinet for the bottle of Aspirin. I downed two of them and then looked over my face in the mirror.

The face looking back at me was not my own. The face of the boy in the mirror had a black eye, busted lip, and bruised cheek. I ran my tongue over the slit in my lip, wincing at the small burn it caused. What happened last night?

I could only remember certain things from the party the night before. I remembered having a talk with Liam, and I remember finding Hannah and taking her upstairs. The rest of the night's memories were a blur.

I grabbed a wash cloth from the closet and wet it down with cold water. Pressing the cool cloth to my aching cheek, I made my way downstairs to look for someone who could give me details reguarding my current bruised state.

The entire first floor of the house was a wreck, and it made me cringe at the thought of how much worse it would be downstairs. Entering the living room I noticed ripped streamers and red cups littering the floor, along with an array of different empty alcohol bottles. The furniture - for the most part - was in tact. Nothing seemed broken, just put out of place and turned over.

Laying on one of the couches cuddled up was none other than Randy and Paul. Randy had his arm around his brother's bare torso and his head was rested on Paul's chest. Paul had his arm around the underside of Randy. I bit my tongue to stop myself from laughing, and pulled out my cell phone. I took a quick picture of the boys and Instagrammed it before I grabbed two metal skillets from the kitchen and hit them together loudly to wake them up.

Randy jumped up instantly, a small trail of drool hanging from his mouth and down his chin. "What? Who's there?" Randy's shaggy blonde hair was sticking up in different places, and his eyes were bloodshot. I'm not even going to mention the awful smell eminating from him.

Paul woke up much calmer. He pushed his brother off of him and sat up. Randy landed face first, sprawled out on the hardwood floor. Paul yawned and rubbed his fists in his eyes before turning and looking at me over the back of the couch. He cocked his head to the side. "Nice face," he said with furrowed eyebrows. "You get mugged by a biker gang?"

I just shrugged in response. "I dunno," I mummbled. "I can't remember."

Randy stood up wiped sleep from his eyes. "I know! I know!" he said, suddenly getting a spurt of energy and bouncing like a child. He ran a hand through his hair and took a breath. "You got in a fight!"

I rolled my eyes. "Well no dip, Sherlock. What about?"

Randy's face twisted as he tried to think. He clapped his hands together. "That," he paused and tried to think about it again. Then, when after a short moment he spoke again. "That I do not know." He held up a finger. "But Liam probably knows. Go ask him."

"Where's he at?" I asked, looking around the room again.

As if on cue, Liam walked upstairs from the basement. He was carrying two black trash bags in either hands and he looked tired. Liam's short blonde hair stood up in odd places and he had bags under his eyes. His right cheek was a blue-purple ish color. He walked with his shoulder slumped.

"You look like you just came out of Walking Dead," I said, catching his attention. He shot me a small grin and chucked. 

"Yeah? Back at 'cha."

"About that. Can you tell me why my face is no longer pretty looking?"

Liam walked to the counter and set the trash bags on the floor. He began to grab empty red cups laying on the counter top and dropped them into the bag. He seemed to be ignoring my question, and it was starting to make me mad. My face was all busted up, and his wasn't any better looking, I believed I had a right to know as to why.