Flashbacks

Short story project

This is unrelated to this book, it's just a piece of writing for my English project. I'll post the full thing after I'm finished, if u want of course.

Oliver pinched himself. For a little too long he might add. He sat there squeezing his arm with enough force to bleed. It stung, but he was too mystified with the scenery around him to care about his minor injuries. He just couldn't seem to believe how empty and hollow Jessie's room was. Only hours before, he, and his friends had been drinking and smoking and playing video games. It couldn't possibly be this tidy. Jessie, that mess, was a dumpster fire within theirself. Along with a night of rebellious teenage antics it was bound to have made the room a living nightmare, but despite the odds the bedroom was spotless. Their blanket lay neatly on a bed that looked as if it hadn't been rested on in years. Which was odd, since Jessie, Oliver, and Carol had all been laying in it, until they fell asleep. Not a speck of dust was around and everything was in it's place, like a real live picture. Oliver ran a shaky hand through his ginger strands. How much alcohol did he drink? He wasn't sure, but he definitely could feel it rising back up to the top. He raced to the twin's restroom and retched into the porcelain throne. He could smell the beer on his tongue and he had the worst headache he'd ever experienced. It was like throwing tiny rocks at the wall of his skull every five seconds. When he finished retasting all of last night's mistakes he lifted his head and wiped his mouth against his hoodie sleeve. He always seemed to have one despite the temperature. Carol would smile at him and violently sign he was a crazy person, when he did. He would just admire her choice to go mute despite her full ability to speak. She would always reply (in sign language of course) that she felt there shouldn't need to be words to get a point across. Assuming, they were both already downstairs, Oliver decided to stop overthinking the cleanliness of the bedroom and just join them where they were. Which in theory was a great idea, except he couldn't seem to open the door. The knob was so slippery and his sweaty palms just wouldn't allow the handle to turn. Oliver was growing impatient so he slammed himself against the door willing it to open. He was finally able to get through but once he was on the other side, he noticed how the door had barely cracked open.