Last Night

Chapter Two

"M-I-A T-A-L-L-O-N-E" I shout down the phone, this is so stupid, they want all my details and all I want is a god damn key to get into my flat. It took me long enough to crawl my way up the halls of residence, block B, stairs only to find I had lost my key.

Sounds about right, always happens after a night out - We loose something or someone, although usually it's me and I'm attempting to get into the completely wrong apartment. My head is pounding and I can smell vomit on my jacket sleeve, is it mine? - yes I know that's disgusting.

I pour the contents of my clutch onto the floor: a fiver, a few coins, a condom, a lipstick and my iPhone. I grab my phone and it's my lucky day - it has 15% battery. Unlocking it, I search through my contacts urgently - Duncan Edwards, one of my best, probably intoxixated like myself, friends. I dial the number and surprise surprise it's voicemail. Probably passed out in some girls flat, he's quite the ladies man.

Time for plan B, I drag myself along the carpet, resulting in multiple burns to my legs and make it to Fi's door. I bang my fist on the door and shout her name, oh please tell me she's late too, we take the same phycology class. She opens the door and I fall in face first - ouch that hurts.

"How did you even make it back?!" she laughs at me.

"What do you mean?" I question.

"Well let's just say Bernies will be in the process of ordering all thier drink stock today!"

"Was I really that bad?"

"You were that bad Mia, you gave Stuart a lap dance"

Oh dear I think to myself, this is a regular occurrence for our group - getting pissed. Stuart, will hold the lapdance on me forever, I can already hear him laughing at me and a comment which will pretty much go along the lines of "hitting on a gay now?!" Stuart is one of our many friends who is as gay as they  come, but unlike the stereotypes he is not the overly nice guy you'd think. He takes great pleasure in insulting each and every one of us.

Speak of the devil, he arises from his apartment - he must have heard me shouting. He is almost crippled with laughter, but no wonder, I am a wreck, lying face down half in, half out fi's apartment.

"Well who's this hot thang Fi?" he asks in his most sarcastic tone.

"You are an asshole" I reply "Let's go for breakfast"

I've decided this as now we're about an hour late for our 10 o'clock lecture so stuff it. Breakfast sounds far too appealing. So with that the three of us, still ever - so - slightly intoxicated, began to descend the stairs that had taken me so long to climb.