𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐦 𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

"𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝟐𝐚𝐦. 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧?"

here you were. lying in your bed, drunk and stoned out of your mind. all because of him.

he cheated on you two weeks ago. since then, your only relief has been the bottles of vodka on the floor, and the homemade blunts you had made.

somehow your hand was bleeding, but you were so far out of it you didn't mind. the clear bottle was stained blood red, and trickles of blood were left on the bedsheets. but you didn't care.

taking another swig from the bottle, you stared at the wall. you didn't know what you had done wrong. you gave him everything. even your own virginity. all just to see him sleeping with another girl.

somehow you ended up texting your best friend. he didn't understand what you were saying, but neither did you. now your phone was lying on the floor, soaked in your own blood.

you were about to make yourself downstairs to get another bottle, when there was a knock on your door. you grumbled and stood up, trying your best to make it down the stairs. the almost empty vodka bottle was still gripped tightly in your left hand, the other gripping the stairwell.

before you could make it to the door, someone unlocked it, and pushed it open.

any sober person would have made a run for it. but you continued down the stairs, still sipping from the bottle.

the kitchen light was on, and you could see an outline of someone taking their jacket off. it was 2am. who could be here at this hour?

"y/n?"

the man called out your name as you stepped on the hardwood floors, putting the glass bottle to your lips, "right here." was your response.

he looked in your direction, and the light showed his face. of course it as him. who else had a key to your apartment?

"fuck you're alright." he said, walking to you, "why'd you text me."

you didn't even respond to his question, "it's 2am. what's going on?"

he furred his eyebrows, "what? you texted me. you sounded off. and you never text me in the middle of the night. so i was worried."

your sober self would have hugged him and thanked him for worrying about you. but you weren't sober. you were very out of your mind.

so you just scoffed and walked to the kitchen, opening the fridge before pulling out another bottle of vodka. not even bothering to throw the other one away, you put it on the table, and opened the new one.

he just looked at you in disbelief. you had almost never touched heavy alcohol like that. you could barely down beer in one sitting. now you were drinking two straight bottles of vodka without passing out.

"maybe you shouldn't drink that." his hand made a move for the bottle, but you swerved past him, "don't fucking tell me what to do."

you angrily marched up the stairs, not bothering to close the door as you went to the bathroom. luckily he wasn't coming up the stairs very quickly, so you made it to your bedroom before he got there.

you just sat on the floor, taking long sips from the bottle. calum didn't find it amusing.

he took a look around the room, and rubbed his face, "i'm glad you drunk texted me."

"why? i'm perfectly fine on my own." your words were slurred, not even bothering to look up at him.

"there's blood everywhere. not to mention the vodka and weed you've got going on. this is unhealthy."