Bury a Friend | Hemlock Grove |

Chapter 12 | Should've Known Better |

TW: Allusions of suicide

Emma wakes up the next day with a pounding headache and a dull pain in her stomach. She can't move from her spot on the floor even though her throat burns for water. She succumbs to the feeling of helplessness and drifts in and out on conciseness for most of the day.

When she finally stays awake long enough to sit up she wishes she was asleep again.

Once Emma drags herself up from her floor and to her bathroom, she lays back down on the cold tile. The feeling of her forehead placed flat down on it elicits a deep sigh of relief. She's disgusting and can feel the grime and dirt built up under her fingernails. Suddenly a bitter taste rises in her mouth and she turns her head to the side just in time to throw up onto the floor.

She tries to push herself up onto her elbows only to give up and lay back down in her own vomit. Somehow the bathroom has never been so hot, yet cold, at the same time. She falls back asleep there for some time, and when she finally awakens the sun is starting to dip down.

She's starting to feel a bit better than before, but the puke clinging her body isn't doing her any favors. After several inner-motivation speeches, she manages her way to the sink to wash it off. She has to sit down as soon as she's done and take a few breaths.

Emma eyes the shower next to her before settling on a bath. The moment the steam hits her face she gags and flips the tap to cold. She settles into the lukewarm tub and lays her head against the cold porcelain. This must be what people mean when they say they're never drinking again. They never mean it, though. She doesn't mean it either.

She stays in the bath until the temperature has dipped well below room temperature and seems to be absorbing the chill from outside. Her skin is uncomfortably pruned. She wraps herself in an old scratchy towel and returns to her spot on the floor that she had crawled out of. She burrows herself down into the warm quilt.

The sun starts to go down and she can't fall back asleep, bothered by the constant pounding vibrations in her head. She doesn't want to think about it- about how fucking stupid she was. "Last night was a mistake" has never been more of an understatement.

Emma can't remember what was going through Last Night Emma's head when she made these choices. She must have slipped into some strange alternate universe where when mistakes are made they multiply like the Hydra.

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Emma knew exactly what would happen after last night, she understood chemistry. The ecstasy had drained her already low amount of serotonin and now it would be a while before they were replenished. In the back of her mind, she worries that maybe they won't come back. That maybe she's wasted all her serotonin on one night and now will be not only ashamed but also serotonin-less.

Ashamed is also an understatement, everything is an understatement. There are no words known that could equate to the emotions she was shouting in her head. Her inner monologue is just screaming into the void.

When she finally thinks her brain has relaxed and might let her sleep something rocks through her. It hits her again how unbelievably dumb she had been. Her chest catches and small "hmphs" come from her throat all on their own. Then she gives in.

She wants to cry so she does.

Tomorrow, she'll go back to school relive everything again. People knew what happened, of course, they did. It's a small town and half of it was at Scotty's last night. How do explain that people? She doesn't want to think about it much less explain it to her friends. And she'll be goddamn shocked if Roman hasn't already told someone. He always does.