The Butterfly Effect

1. Just Want to Sleep

August 21, 2016

I woke up on the lawn of the biggest frat house on campus, covered in dried vomit and guacamole. My shimmering gold boot was under my head; apparently a substitute for a pillow. I have a cramp in my neck and my hair is knotted.

Ah, don't worry. It's just a typical Wednesday for me.

They say that every superhero needs a side kick and luckily for me, the universe gave me two. Well one is more like a side chick. If you don't want to know about them, too bad; I'm going to tell you anyway right after I find them....right after I put on my boot.

I somehow stand up, though my legs feel detached from my body. I am highly irritated right now. Who gave the sky permission to be blue and the sun to distribute its happy vitamin D rays when I have a hangover? It can go fuck itself! I am telling a story here and the scenery isn't fitting my mood.

Anyway, I make my way into the Phi Gamma Delta hellhole and scope the area. Empty beer cans, red solo cups, and jello containers litter the mahogany floor. I'm definitely not cleaning that up later. I've paid my dues, some freshman can do it.

I make my way up to the spiral staircase. I have a feeling I know where one of my friends are: the side kick. To answer your question, no, he doesn't know about my ability, nobody does. It's one of the rules my grandmother warned me about. I'll discuss those later if the time comes.

Right now, my friend.

I walk up the marble staircase and turn left. As my headache increases, so does my impatience. I just want to check on my friends, take a shower, and crash in my room. Is that too much to ask?

I swing open the door that is at the end of the hallway, and sure enough, there he is. I see my friend passed out in the garden tub, fully dressed with his arms clung tightly to his chest. He isn't snoring but he looks uncomfortable.

"Hey, Leprechaun!" I tease. This is his only chance to answer me before I take drastic measures.

You see, my friend, Niall is Irish if you can't tell by my -original- nickname for him. You sense the sarcasm right? Anyway, there is one thing that makes him absolutely livid: messing up his hair. He is a natural brunette but has had it frosted throughout his entire college experience. As soon as he sees the slightest bit of dark roots trying to show, he will bleach that right back to a white color. How he has hair left that is actually healthy is beyond me.

Now it's time for a round of "Read Niall's Dating Profile." Niall Horan is a 21 year old Marketing Student who will show you a good time with his dashing blue eyes, blonde hair, and sparkling white smile. If you're into him taking longer to get ready than you for a date, DM him. *Winks*

"Niall!" I call out more time but he doesn't flinch. So I do what any good friend will....I turn the faucet to the sprayer on the tub and remove it from its resting place and then I aim it at Niall.

"What the fuck?" He jumps to his feet. "Harry.. Do you know how long it takes to make it stand up like this? The amount of product I have to use?!" He rushes over to the mirror and runs a hand through his hair. "FUCK"

I laugh softly. I want to cackle but my head hurts too much for that. "Well dude, you should stop sleeping in the bathtub. You have a room, you know!"

Niall flips me off before exiting the bathroom. I hear his door close momentarily and then I hear a thud. Without even looking, I know that is Niall throwing someone out of his room.

Like I said, typical Wednesday.

I walk back out of the bathroom and start opening other rooms. The side chick is a little more harder to find. You see, her name is Olivia and she is what you call a hot mess. She comes to these frat parties with only one goal in mind: flirt excessively with one of my frat brothers, drink large amounts of alcohol, and dance the night away.