Orange Juice

Lying face down, unconscious on Andy Barber's lawn, Marissa felt the sprinklers lightly misting her face. Her eyes reluctantly opened, and she was greeted by the unpleasant taste of soured vomit lingering in her mouth, her tongue sticking to the sides reminiscent of cotton wool. A discarded, torn pair of jeans served as a makeshift support for an empty vodka bottle. Marissa anxiously glanced down at her legs, desperately hoping that her underwear remained intact. Thankfully, she found the black cotton covering her, albeit barely. This was the breaking point for her. She knew she needed help, and she needed it urgently.