Sunday March 5th
I have the worst hangover in the history of mankind. My head feels like a vice is closing round it and I can’t stop throwing up. It’s 3pm and I am still in bed. God knows what Dad thinks; to be honest I am past caring.
I tried to talk to Stu yesterday. I had to down some of my Dad’s whisky for Dutch courage, and smoke a couple of joints out in the back yard. I turned up on Stu’s doorstep all contrite but he wasn’t having any of it. He wasn’t even all shouty and angry, he was just cold. He shut the door in my face even though I was crying. I have never felt so bad.
So I found myself heading towards the parking lot where the kids from school hang out. I think I had some kind of death wish going on. I must have looked like some crazy chick, with my hair all wild and my eyeliner all smudged. I could see Him from way off and the closer I got the blurrier he got, which was weird. I think he took my arm and steered me away and into his car.
The next thing I remember was looking at the lights from the lookout. They were sparkly and twinkly and Lady Gaga was playing on the radio and the beer in my hand was warm but tasted good. The Quarterback’s breath was hot on my neck and he was saying something about …regrets? And his lips were soft on my mine, and I was kissing him like drowning. And then I was crying and he was holding me, and I was telling him about my Mum and what she said to me the day she died. And the next thing I was in my bed and then it was morning.
God, my head hurts.
I woke earlier to find Him asleep beside me, arms around my waist. He smelt of cinnamon toast and I breathed him in. How could a creature so dangerous smell so innocent? But here he was sleeping like a baby, long lashes fluttering slightly against his smooth skin. I think he had charmed my puzzled Dad into letting him into the house and into my bedroom. He had kicked off his shoes and got in beside me, tucking himself against my back and kissing the nape of my neck gently. I hardly dared move in case it broke the spell. Now I sit looking at him, asleep in my bed and think it is, indeed, a brave new world that has such people in it. I will have to wake him soon and tell him to go home, but a few more minutes will do no harm.
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