The morning after the night before.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Last night is a blur. I'm in desperate need of painkillers.

And I have a serious lack of footwear going on.

Submitted: February 18, 2009

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 18, 2009



I wake up, and become aware of the vile taste in my mouth. My teeth are coated in a thick gross furry substance, and my hand is dead.

The sun is shining down on me, I can barely open my heavy eyes.

I take in a nice deep breath of fresh air, and then promptly throw up onto the pavement, splattering strong smelling vomit on my arm.

Shaking my arm, mainly to make the blood flow again, partly to lose the sticky pieces of regurgitated food, I grab the wall behind me and pull myself to standing. Woo... standing kinda makes things go spinny. I try to work out which street I've passed out on this time, and figure that I'm not far from home. The last thing i remember about last night was crashing that party with Sam, drinking other peoples drinks and then..... no, thats all I can remember.

I stagger along the road, glad the wall is there for support. I've made it about ten steps before I realise that I'm barefoot. Oh man, those shoes cost a fortune, black satin strappy ones with sparkly heels. Good job I didn't pay for them. Actually, thinking about it now - I remember what happened to my shoes. I think I threw them at someone. I hope they hit whoever I threw them at.

Feeling in my jeans pocket, I find what I'm after. Sitting on a broken wall, I spark up a fag, and inhale deeply. More vomit, lots of retching. My tummy rumbles. This cigarette is so well needed, but it would go nice with a pint of cold water. I run my tongue around my dry mouth, salivate as much as I can and spit on the floor.

Finishing my ciggie, I flick it across the road. All the way to the other side - I smile a strange drunk smile, which makes my head hurt.

I spot something glittery near the glowing ember of the cigarette butt. I'm pretty sure it's my shoes. If I wasn't still so drunk, I would just cross the road and get them. But it's pretty obvious that thats not gonna happen. Home isn't over the road, home is up the road, and home is where the painkillers are. I really can't be arsed with walking further than absolutely necessary.

I stand upright. Ish. Hands on hips. A determined stance. Painkillers, thats what I need. They aren't far now.

I giggle. Oh yeah, the shoes! I threw them at Sam. He tried it on with me, the horny bastard. I'm not quite sure now, why I declined, but I faintly recall having some sort of reason. A mental image of Sam standing in the middle of the road, with his hands in the air, pops into my head. I hope the shoes hit him where it hurts, especially seeing as it's obvious he left me to pass out on the pavement. Wanker, fancy leaving a fifteen year old girl alone in this neighbourhood!

OK, at last, I'm at the top of the street, I just have to turn the corner and voila - pain relief! Staggering into my front garden, I try the front door. Locked! Fuckers! Don't they know I never have my keys? I go round to the back garden, my stupid mother has left the small kitchen window open. I reach inside with my fingers, and release the catch so I can open the window fully. Squeezing my body through the gap, I put one foot in the sink, then drag the other in. Turning round to try and get myself off the worktop, I slip and fall onto the floor, landing on my arse. Thank fuck I'm still completely minging, or I would have felt that.

I grab the painkillers, and run a glass of water. I down it in one, then crawl to bed.

I'm woken, for the second time that day, when my step dad comes home from work. He comes straight up to my room.

"I see you made it home after last night." He scolded.

"Oh for fucks sake, Sam," I moan, as he forces his dirty hands under the covers, "piss off!"

"Come on," he urges, "I've got some vodka. Thats what you had at the party last night. you had fun didn't you? My friends did..."

More mental images of the night before flash into my head as my body tenses.

I try to vomit, but I only manage to retch, the taste of painkillers, chalky and dry, at the back of my throat.

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