His Shoes Don't Fit Me

Chapter One

His shoes don't fit me

JAB

Chapeter one:

As Leighton's eyes began to slowly flutter open, the sudden invasion of sunlight beaming through his living room's floor to ceiling windows burnt against his corneas like ardent fire. He squinted rigidly, and his face twisted in agony as the sudden and violent pounding of his head resonated against his ears. Discomfort coursed through his body as consciousness crept up through his grogginess, giving way to awareness. He'd blacked out halfway through the previous night's party and observed he'd passed out on the couch. His muscles ached, and his throat felt dry and hoarse. He coughed violently, a tight pressure on his chest constricting his airway and he wondered just how much he'd smoked the night before.

As his eyes opened fully, he noticed a pretty young girl with honey colored hair and a pouty little mouth whose introduction the night before he remembered vaguely... her name not at all, lying on top of him, making his chest a resting place for her head. His face twisted again, only this time in disgust as he realized his hand, which hung loosely off the sofa was resting against something... sticky. Vomit. He groaned and lifted his hand to gaze upon the slime coating the top of his hand and his fingers. He gagged slightly and questioned whether it was his own throw-up or the girl's. he shook his hand violently in a futile attempt to rid himself of the slime and pushed the girl off of him and onto the floor. She fell with a loud thud against the hardwood planks, grunting and whining slightly before passing out again. He looked down at himself to see he was shirtless, his jeans bunched down off of one ankle, his underwear pulled down to his knees, and a soggy, used condom hanging loosely off of his limp dick.

"Jesus fucking Christ." He muttered softly to himself as he pulled the condom off and tossed it on the floor.

He pulled himself up into a sitting position, grunting loudly as an agonizing pain radiated from his head and spread through his whole body. After pulling up his underwear and shaking his pants off the rest of the way, he rose from the sofa and looked around his apartment at the carnage left over from the night's party. His industrial loft apartment had wall to wall, original hardwood flooring which was now clad with solo cups, scraps of food, random clothing, shoes, accessories, beer and liquor bottles, and passed out party goers. There must have been 15 people passed out on a sort of aimless trail from his living room to his kitchen. His house plants were tipped over, dirt spilled everywhere and the decorative items from the floating shelves he'd installed against the exposed brick wall only three days prior were all in disarray or knocked over on the floor. His stomach churned, and he panicked slightly as he felt a burning pressure traveling rapidly up his esophagus.

He dashed across the living room, stopping abruptly at his kitchen sink. Realizing that it was filled to the brim with dirty dishes, he attempted to hold it back, but there was no chance that he'd make it to the bathroom. He grabbed onto the edge of his countertop and hunched over abruptly. Vomit spewed out of him, the copious amounts of alcohol consumed during the party coming out of him in a downpour. When it finally stopped, and the coughing fit had subsided he straightened his posture and turned the faucet to let the hot water run at full pressure.

"Fuck." He mumbled out slowly as he rinsed his hands clean and splashed his face with hot water.

"Last night Was fuckin' epic!" Leighton heard unexpectedly, his entire body jolting from the surprise voice.

As Leighton's roommate, River, walked from the doorway to his bedroom over to the kitchen wearing nothing but a flimsy house robe, Leighton grabbed onto his own short, coarse hair, tugging it slightly as if by pulling it, he could pull his headache out with it. River grabbed onto the side of Leighton's head and pulled him in to kiss it.