Troye’s POV
“Ugh,” I groan, putting a hand immediately to my head as the familiar, yet still agonizing, pain of a hangover and the violent thudding of somebody pounding on the door pulls me violently out of my slumber. I frown, squinting my eyes as I slowly sit up to try and keep most of the light out of them. I turn my head, pushing a hand through my messy and slightly tangled hair. I look down at Tyler, who is sprawled across the floor with an empty bottle of vodka in his hand. “Tyler? Tyler, wake up.” I say, wincing when my loud voice cuts through my head like a knife. How much vodka did we drink? I only see one bottle.
“Too early.” I hear him slur, only slightly twitching in his sleep. I roll my eyes and push myself up and off of the bed that I was lay down on. I trudge out of the room and into the bathroom, filling up a plastic cup with cold water. I walk back to where Tyler is and hold the cup steadily in my hand.
“You asked for this.” I tell him firmly, though I can’t help but feel the grin that spreads across my face at the sight of him. Oh, lord, he is going to be so mad when I do this. I step back to avoid getting splashed with any water, and I tip the cup upside down. I watch the clear liquid flow out of the cup and pour onto Tyler’s face. His eyes are open immediately and he is alert and panicking.
“What the fuck?!” He, suddenly sober, yells, pressing his hands to his cheeks. He feels the wetness of them and frowns. “Is this water or alcohol?” Tyler asks, and then his eyes land on the cup in my palm. He raises an eyebrow as I smile down at him. “You didn’t.”
“Well, like I said, you asked for it,” I say honestly, turning away from him and setting the cup down on the surface of Tyler’s bedside table. A dark memory swims to my mind, and I swallow. “Shit.”
“What? What is it?” Tyler asks, pushing his hand through his hair and ruffling it slightly in attempt to dry it without having to get a towel or a hairdryer. “We didn’t-“
I feel my cheeks burn. “Oh, God, no,” I say, widening my eyes. “No, no, it’s not that. It’s just we shouldn’t be here. It isn’t safe.” I explain, and this seems to make things click inside his brain. He chews on the inside of his cheek, suddenly in deep thought. I hear another loud bang as somebody tries to open the door. I glance over to it and watch it shake, only now remembering that somebody was there. Jesus, I really must have been shit-faced drunk.
“The hell? Is that Ken?” Tyler asks, voicing some of my distant thoughts. I shrug, watching as Tyler smoothly walks over to the door and reaches for the handle. Violent images swim across my mind, and I remember those things. Those things we were warned about.
“Tyler, no!” I cry out, and push him out of the way before he can open the door. A growl, or, should I say, irritated scream, cuts through the wood of the door. I press my back to it instinctively, trying my hardest to prevent it from being opened. Thank God these things are dumb enough to not know how to open doors. “Do you have a weapon?” I ask frantically, scanning the room.
“No! Why would I have a freaking weapon?!” He replies, his voice raising a few octaves. My eyes slip down from his face to the floor, where the empty bottle of vodka lies.
