Scheme Girl

The Hangover's Never the Worst Part

I wake up the next morning and shiver so hard I bite my tongue.  I sit up and feel my stomach lurch.  I force myself to swallow air in a desperate attempt not to be sick.

"Hail Mairi." Someone moans; I freeze and look myself over.

Shit.  Not again.

I nervously look at the guy next to me and wince.  Hamish.  Of all the lads at that party .... HAMISH!!  Why do I do this to myself, I seethe as I look around the room frantically for my clothes.  I spot my red knickers poking out from under the bed and as I stretch my arm to reach them, Hamish throws his arm over my stomach.  His watch thwacks one of my ribs and I twitch in pain as I grab my knickers and slyly worm back into them.

"Don't cover up baby." Hamish moans; I shudder and roll off the bed, not caring how much my hangover screams at me to get back under the covers and away from the evil sunshine.  I crawl around on the floor for my matching red bra and see it on top of the chest of drawers.  I reach for it and yank it down, along with most of the crap Hamish never tidies.  A broken Biro hits my nose and I jerk away from it, not wanting to touch anything that belongs to that Thing.

"Hamish?" His older brother shouts as I fight my way into my bra.  The door swings open just as I find my red jeans and do the jeans dance into them.  "Oh." Hamish's brother barely glances at me and I search for my monster shirt, my cheeks bright red.

I can't believe the first time I meet Hamish's brother, I'm scrambling half-naked through his little brothers room.  Bollocks.

I tug on my shirt and find my left Converse looking very lonely by the door.

"Where's your friend?" I ask my shoe, forgetting that I'm with other people.  People who probably don't talk to their clothes.  From the silence in the room, they barely talk to each other, let alone their shoes.  Hamish's brother throws me my other Converse and I mouth a thank you at him.  He says nothing and looks away, which is when I realise my shirt has gone up and he can see the scar I have from my mam throwing an empty glass at me.  I tug my shirt down and pull on my hoody, itching to get the hell away from Hamish.

I make a stop at the toilet and heave, trying to remember how I ended up in bed with Hamish.  Again.  But all I can think of is that stupid American...Keiron?

"Ugh." I groan as I drink water from their sink and swirl some around my mouth to get rid of that horrid furry feeling in my cheeks and over my tongue.  I run my tongue over my teeth and shudder - my teeth have wigs.

As I'm trying not to sprint like hell away from Hamish's house, I check my phone.  8 missed calls and 34 texts.  Wow.  Someone was stressing about me.  As I try the idea for size, I open one of the texts.  Most of them are from Dallas or Dougie and along the lines of "I saw you with Hammy and we couldn't find you at kick-out time, are you OK?!"  They get more and more panicked the later they get.

"Jeez," I mutter as I call Dougie.  "Why'd he get so wound up?  Not like I could've got far." I stand in front of my house and stare at it, wishing I could live somewhere - anywhere - else.

"Hello?" A girl whines down the phone.

"Is Dougie there?" I ask as I walk up my front yard, trying not to step on any of the needles people abandon on my lawn.

"Who are you?" She whines and I smirk as I think of Dougie's hangover.  Her voice definitely won't help him.

"Tell him it's Mairi." I can't stop laughing now, even though it makes me feel sick.

"Dougie, it's Mairi?" She drags out my name and I hear sheets rustling.

"Mairi?" Dougie sounds like he's dying.  "How do hen?" He rasps; I shiver in the cold of my house and try to remember the number for the council.  I need to get dads card to pay that fucking electric bill - I'm not having another month of freezing slowly to death.