Zayn's POV
"I should give Aunt Zileh a call." I tell Clinton as he hoists me up in his arms. The room around me begins to spin, so I shut my eyes and hold on tightly to my friend as he carries me.
I didn't mean for it to go this far, but clearly I've overestimated myself. I only meant to get buzzed, but clearly I've turned into a lightweight after barely drinking for six years.
"No, you shouldn't." He retorts, "She wouldn't wanna see you like this."
I forgot what we were speaking about, so I keep my eyes closed until I no longer feel motion. Opening my eyes, I realize that I'm now in front of the toilet with Clinton's hand to my back.
"I'm not gonna puke again."
"Are you sure?"
I nod slightly and lift myself by using the toilet seat for support. With my friends' help, he guides me to the sink, so I wash my hands and rinse my mouth with water, then mouthwash. Taking it a step further, Clinton splashes my face with cold water, but I'm too out drunk to react.
"You're cut off."
"Obviously." I frown at my reflection in the mirror which is still moving, "I'm gonna get hydrated."
"Need help?"
"No." I wrap my arms around his broad body, "You're a good friend, Clint." I tap his shoulder before stumbling to the kitchen.
Within seconds, Aylin is by my side with her arm around my waist, somewhat supporting my weight, "Are you okay?"
"Mhm, just need some water." I push my glass to the fridge dispenser, but my hand shivers as the glass fills up. Honestly, I'm not sure if I'm spilling or not.
"Okay, let me help you." Aylin takes it from me while I hang on her, closing my eyes again.
An overwhelming sense of affection hits me when she guides me to a seat and holds the glass to my lips. After a few large gulps, I pull her towards me and hug her tight, resting my head to her chest, wondering whether that's her heart beating or my brain on the verge of exploding.
"Tell everyone to go home. I just wanna be with you."
"Do you wanna go to bed?"
"Are you gonna stay?" I question, but she doesn't answer.
Again, I feel that motion, yet it's not me moving. When I open my eyes, I have Clinton on my left and Christian on my right, walking me towards the balcony where they drop me on the bean bag. I can't feel my legs.
"Where's Aylin?"
"McDonald's." Clinton responds, but I'm not sure if I heard that correctly.
"Huh?"
"They're getting your drunk ass food."
What the fūck? How long was I out?
"Does your face hurt?"
"No?"
"Well, it's gonna hurt in the morning." He hands me an ice pack to hold against my left cheek.
"Did I fall?" I question.
"Your whole face dropped against the table."
"Am I gonna get a concussion!?"
"Doubt it. Aylin said you hit your jaw."
I sigh, deciding not to question anything else since it's confusing me further and making my head spin more. I don't know how many minutes pass as I sit here, but the chilly breeze hitting my skin urges me to go back inside. I shift my weight on the beanbag since I've become too sunk in.
