*currently editing*
Two boys. Two different schools. One game. One goal.
Life was easy when you were considered high school royalty but when you get rivalry on the field, things get a little interesting.
Connor Taylor went to Northshore. Dakota Ande...
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"is your bedroom ceiling bored like mine, of you staring at it all the time? 'Cause it's seen so many nights where I cry and I yell at the sky, for not telling you how I feel"
is your bedroom ceiling bored • sody
***
Spears of sunlight pierced the corners of my bedroom the next morning. Assaulted by the vibrant sunbeams, I rolled over and cursed my drunken self for not possessing enough awareness to close the curtains before I climbed (read: fell) into bed last night.
"What the fuck." I groaned lazily into my pillow. What had happened last night?
I'd been on the precipice of sleep once more when the sound of a door banging open startled me wide awake.
"Get up." Came the loud and demanding voice of my father, followed by footsteps. "Get out of bed right now."
Before I could react, the covers were ripped from my body and I immediately shivered at the exposure. A pair of boxers were my only shield from the glacial air of September mornings.
"Right now, Dakota!" Dad roared somewhere above me.
"Jesus." I groaned, eyes still closed as I turned over. My head was laden with one hell of a hangover and I knew it was only about to get worse. "There are more pleasant ways of waking me up."
"I don't give a damn what you think is pleasant right now." Dad snarled. "Get dressed and get downstairs. If I come up here and finding you sleeping again then yelling will be the least of your worries."
He stormed out of the room. Grumbling, I rolled over and slapped my bedside table a few times over in search of my phone. My hand finally landed on it and I checked the time.
9:21am.
Oh, you've got to be kidding me.
Getting out of bed was a process. Actually making conscious thoughts through the fog of my hangover was proving a lot harder than it should've been. I'd been hungover before but never like this. God, what had I drank last night? I must've been the Tiddalick of Liquorland.
Apathetic to looking presentable at this time of the morning, I pulled on my black dressing gown and shoved my feet in a pair of slippers. My hair was a wild mess that would have to be tamed in the shower, but I was almost certain Dad would murder me if I delayed any longer.
Glaciers moved faster than I did padding down the stairs. It was only when I reached the main floor of the house that my eyes widened. "Holy shit."
The house was, in one word, trashed. Half-empty bottles and shot glasses littered every surface. Numerous stains littered the floor and some of the furniture had been torn or shredded in places. A plant had been tipped over in the corner, soil spilling out onto polished tile. The smell emanating from the area said someone had absolutely not listened to my speech about not pissing in it.
