Blood is thicker than water- a phrase many have heard and implemented in their everyday lives. For the Knighton brothers, it was more than just a phrase. For them it was a motto, their creed. It meant that nobody, friend or love interest, was above...
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Never again is what I was telling myself. I knew I'd probably gone overboard with the drinks last night. The throbbing sensation I had between my eyes and the feeling of dehydration that overtook my body was evident of that. My throat felt like sandpaper and I didn't feel like moving. I literally felt like I'd gotten hit by a fucking bus and waves of nausea added to my misery. I wrapped myself up in the throw blanket and sat up slightly, swinging my bare feet onto the wood floors. I raised my heavy eyelids only halfway before they fell shut again. I repeated the same action and was successful this time. Although it was morning, I was thankful that no one had peeled back the huge drapes in the living room to let the sunlight in.
I stood up and as soon as I did, the room swirled almost making me lose my balance. I used the arm of the couch to steady myself, waiting for my vision to refocus. I knew these were telltale signs of a hangover and what I was feeling meant that I'd obviously had some fun last night, but for some reason it wasn't there in my memory. I couldn't remember shit. The only thing I could vaguely recall was fucking somebody last night. Anything before that was a blur.
My head felt like I had an axe planted right in the middle of it and my eyes struggled to cope with my surroundings. I felt like shit. I heard footsteps down the hall and soon, I was greeted with the face of Ramona. She was the last damn person I wanted to see right now. I'd been avoiding her ass like the plague and I wasn't about to stop now.
"I see you're finally up. Your brothers headed out a few hours ago to handle some business, whatever the hell that means." She said. "I made some breakfast earlier, I could heat it up for you." As she talked, I was gingerly walking up the stairs not even acknowledging her.
"Here, let me help you." She placed her hand on my side and no sooner than she did, I shoved her back— not even caring that I was nauseous just from doing so.
"Stay da fuck away from me, you sick bitch!" Her head snapped back, like what I said had stabbed her or something and she looked at me in disbelief. I didn't even wait for her to respond. I finally made it to my room and I locked my door behind me. I collapsed on my bed with a hard ass thud. Last night was my first time drinking and since I was a newbie to the shit, I didn't exactly know what a hangover was supposed to feel like— I just knew that what I was feeling wasn't anything like what I'd heard or read. I literally felt sick to my fucking stomach.
I was still in the same clothes from last night and I desperately wanted to hop into the shower, but that would just have to wait. I was still so tired and it wasn't long before sleep overtook me, once again.
I couldn't have been out for more than twenty minutes before I heard a knock on my door. "Man, who is it?"
"It's Oz." I heard on the other side. I hadn't seen him since he approached me about the situation with my case two weeks ago. I got up, feeling slightly better, before unlocking my door and swinging it open. Surprisingly, he didn't look as bad as he did when I'd seen him last. We slapped hands and he went straight to the futon sofa I had in the corner of my room. "You look like shit, fam."
