𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘐𝘚 𝘓𝘐𝘍𝘌 | PAUL MCCARTNEY

|living is easy with eyes closed|

october seventh

i woke up in a fog. the night before, hectic as it was, i remembered it.

went to a party, got drunk, came home, collapsed on my bed and woke up with the worst headache of my life. i didn't mean to get drunk, though. well, i guess i kind of did.

i had just received the worst news of my life and ran away from it all. as if getting drunk would help, right? anyway, with the condition i was in, there was no way i was getting out of bed to go to school.

i slowly but surely opened my eyes and looked over at my poster-ridden walls. i had pretty much most of the bands from the seventies on them.

and, i recklessly bought something the night prior, i just couldn't figure out what until i glanced at it on my ceiling.

a life-sized cardboard cutout of danny devito was messily taped on my ceiling, looking down at me, staring deep into my soul.

but in my peripheral vision, i saw something on my wooden floors. before i could go any further, the thing moved. at first, i thought it was my german shepherd, but, i looked closer. it was a man. i didn't know what to do with a banging headache and a man on my floor, so i quickly hopped up and got a weapon, any kind of weapon. my hairbrush. my heart was beating a mile a minute, and i felt surges of adrenaline course through my veins.

the man (who was lying face down on my floor), stirred only for a moment before ceasing. he just lied there, seemingly lifeless. he was wearing a suit... a full on suit with a tie and dress shoes. i got closer to the man, my hand furiously shaking. i poked him with the hairbrush to see if he would move. he didn't. he just kept sleeping.

maybe he's unconscious, the little voice in the back of my mind told me. i checked his pulse, and his heart was beating steady. damn. i hurriedly picked the man off the floor and put him into my closet when i heard my mother coming up the stairs. if she found a man in my room, she'd flip. i quickly made sure there weren't any body parts sticking out of the closet and brushed through my hair so i didn't look so ragged.

i hopped back into bed and pretended to sleep, my mother just seconds away from coming in. she knocked on the door and opened it with a creak and a crack.

"beatrice? beatrice- oh... you're sick!" my mother cried, feeling the heat coming off me when she got closer. "you poor thing,"

i very slowly began "waking up", looking up at my mom and giving a very convincing fake-cough. "can i stay home today, mom? i don't..." i coughed again, but louder. "i don't feel too good."

"oh, triss, of course, if you aren't feeling okay," i cringed at my dumb nickname as she rubbed my sweaty forehead and kissed my cheek. "i'm off to work. i'll be home at five. i love you!"

"love you-" i made sure to wheeze as i coughed that time. "too." my mom gave a sympathetic smile and closed my door again. for a second, i just sat, thinking.

could he be a serial killer that fell asleep while trying to kill me in my sleep?

why is he in my room?

why was he wearing those ugly clothes?

what did he want with me?