Deep Breath | G.Dolan

Home Again

Ring ring ring ring. For some reason the hotel phone was ringing and I was in the middle of a nice dream where Ryan Gosling and Channing Tatum were fighting over who gets to defend my honour as I sat on a bed of roses and cream puffs watching.

 "Hello," I mumbled.

"Hello this is your 9am wake up call." This woman is way to perky for me.

"Can I request a 9:05 please kill me?" The line was silent. "Yeah I'm awake."

"Perfect. Have a good day!" I want to punch you in the fucking boob. Clearly, I'm not a morning person.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Jesus with all the noises. Maybe if I just lay here, they'll go away. I heard the door open. Guess not.

"WAKE UP!" I heard someone say but more than one person was in the room. "Did you not get the wake up call?" There's drool all over my face and hand.

"I got it, but then I went back to sleep," I said digging my head deeper in the pillow. I was so disoriented I didn't even know who I was talking to.

"We have about 10 minutes to go before we're off schedule." Mike you perky bastard.

 "Schedules are for squares."

"What?" I heard Bryant say laughing . He was sitting on the couch.

 "Okay I'm up," I said sitting up with my eyes still closed. I wiped the drool off my chin like any lady would.

"Classy," I heard Grayson say. When I opened me eyes Grayson was packing up my bag. I reached into my purse and grabbed my sunglasses to put them on. No one needs the misfortune of knowing what I look like when I first wake up.

"I really really really do not want to drive right now," I said opening my car door and sitting inside. I was still wearing what I wore to bed and my sunglasses with my hair in a messy bun.

"I can drive," Grayson offered.

 "You've driven a Ferrari not a Honda Pilot." I started the ignition.

"C'mon let me drive it's only for an hour." I really wanted to paint my nails anyway. I can't stay with my toes looking like they belong to a homeless man forever.

"Ugh, fine," I said hopping over the divider and into the passenger seat. He got in and adjusted the chair. He leaned back almost like he was lying down with one hand on the top of the wheel. I just stared at him. "The car doesn't bounce up and down if you were wondering, Kanye." He smiled trying not to laugh and fixed it to drive like the normal white boy that he was.

"What are we going to listen to then?" he said as we started to drive following the buses.

"Oh I think you know what we're listening to," I said smiling like a little fat boy who was just told he's been given the keys to Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. I like metaphors—oh no excuse me, similes. My 8th grade Godzilla of an English teacher would be proud.

"Oh God not again," he said, putting in the CD.

"IT'S GOTTA BE YOOOOOOOOOOOOOU," I sang on the top of my lungs whilst painting my nails an obnoxious pink. Because of all the high notes I tend to not even try to sound decent with this song. Grayson winced as I sang the One Direction song. "What? You can do better?"

 "I've really never heard anyone ever sound as bad as you do singing that song." Oh yeah? Well....well...

"Don't be a bitch about it."