One Word | H.S.

Chapter Twelve

Glow.

~

It's been one week since the sleepover sent from the devil himself, and I still haven't recovered.

I swear, I've been dealing with this fucking hangover every waking second and it is absolutely debilitating. I suppose it could also be from the constant drinking I have done since that night, but I'm going to blame the sleepover.

Denial is just a river.

My schedule mirrors that of a normal human being: Wake up, drink. Shower, drink. Work, drink. Cry, drink.

It is quite refreshing living a normal life.

I even wrote Harry's name on each of my vodka bottles, smashing them into pieces after I downed the contents inside. The rush was exhilarating and I began to wonder why people even paid for therapists.

This is so much healthier.

The morning after the sleepover was nothing short of uncomfortable. Everyone seemed normal, minus Cade who was cursing the wind as his extreme amount of shotgunned beers did him in.

No matter how much Cade wants to be a Chad, he'll never be able to keep up with the lifestyle.

Poor Cade.

Harry and I didn't speak once for the remainder of the night. Even though we were on different furniture pieces, both of are bodies stayed as far away from each other as they possibly could. My face was smushed into the cushions as Harry slanted his body at an angle, half of the loveseat remaining empty.

I assume I slept three hours in total, Harry sleeping less as the opening of the balcony door interrupted my "sleep", when in reality, he just interrupted my excessive thinking.

Harry was casually inhaling nicotine as I thought of all the ways to light myself on fire.

Cover myself in body oil...cover myself in nail polish remover...cover myself in the grease from my hair.

Too many options but all seemed inviting.

After that, they all exited, Harry's head turning to meet me one last time, leaving as quickly as the words from last night left his mouth.

Ever since that night, vodka has turned into water. I think I defeated the concept of being drunk, given I have to drink at least eight shots before I feel even a small tinge of tipsiness.

Auggie has returned to being a hermit, staying cooped in his room only leaving when he wants to get a snack. And, Mia and Cade have been busy all week with their work.

I'm hurting no one but myself in this.

Perfect!

Through my self-destructing behavior, I have managed to keep my friends in the dark as I write my drunken state off as exhaustion from work. Since they haven't been around so much, they weren't able to see through my broken falsehood.

Am I shitty person? Yes, but at least I'm not Harry.

Any time I would begin to feel guilty for my actions, feeling as though I'm worthless or a horrible sister and friend, I think about Harry. It really puts things into perspective.

I mean, most of the time. Occasionally, my mind will wander down a dark path as I come to the realization that Harry's hair is better than mine. That really fucks with me.

Pretty boy's words don't make me cry nearly as much as they did, it's his fucking curls. Seriously, what fucking products does that boy use?

Doesn't the Bible say that Satan is like, beautiful?