The sunlight began to trickle in through my bedroom window early in the morning. Well, it seemed way to early at that moment.
I woke up sprawled across my bed, still in the clothes I wore the night before. It was a wonder how I fell asleep at all when I stumbled through the door roughly around three a.m. Mytight fittingjeans constricted me from moving my legs in certain directions and the tight shimmery shirt i wore nearly blinded me when it caught the sunlight just so it reflected directly into my eyes. I groaned and rolled onto my sidein reluctance.I glanced at the silver alarm clock that read 1:26. I had slept half of the day away, but it was worth it.
As I carefully got out from under the twisted comforter, I tried to remember what all had occurred the previous night. My memories were foggy and mostly contained some sort of bottle, can, or shot glass in my hand. I recalled a mint green sports car, for some reason, but then dismissed it from my mind. There was no way I would have been able to retrace most of the time spentthat night, aside from refills and loud music.
I undressed and slipped on a pair of loose, charcoal-colored pajama pants and a white tank top. Nobody was home, nobody was ever home-except me.
Barely conscious and suffering from a severe hangover, I made my way through the small house to the kitchen. On the wood counter top was where I found exactly what I looked for every morning/afternoon after a rough night such as the previous one. The coffeemaker. Steve (or dad) worked at the local prison as a guard and left every morning at five. He was always dead asleep by seven or eight at night, which made it perfect for me to sneak in and out whenever I pleased. Plus, there was always coffee left in the pot for me Tuesday through Saturday.
I poured myself a mug and stuck it in the microwave for a minute or so, just to get it hot enough to consume. I had to be awake and fully functional by the time Steve arrived home at six. It was Saturday, his last work day of the week.
After nearly scalding myself when I tripped over my own foot, I slouched into the maroon sofa and reached for the television remote. The tape that was holding the batteries in place was nearly all peeled off. I had to replace that sometime, considering it was mostly my fault. I had a bad habit of picking at that while staring blindly through the prize-possession television. That was one thing my father was proud of, we always had a top-of-the-line entertainment system. He obviously lived by the "never judge a book by its cover" motto. From the outside, ourhouse was slowly deteriorating. On the inside, it was like any other of my friends cozy, modern homes.
I sipped deliberately at my caffeine-filled beverage as I flipped through the channels. With every couple of channels, I could feel myself become a bit more aware of things.
For some odd reason, I skipped over the cartoons and music channels. I watched the channel number in the top right hand corner decrease until I found channel seven. The local news.