Winter in Paris

17 | Seventeen

PHOEBE HAYES

SOMETIMES I THINK ABOUT the things I do or say. I rethink everything that comes out of my mouth as if somehow I can take it back. What is one day I say something that I'll regret? I have a lot of past faults that I need to own up to but. . .that won't come for a long time.

I awoke to sunlight streaming through the cracks in my window. Why is it so bright? I could have sworn it was still nighttime. Nothing is right in my mind and all my thoughts are hazy.

All my thoughts come rushing back to me and I suddenly shoot upright in my bed and look around the empty room.

"Shit," I hissed, pressing my palm to the side of my head to stop the pounding. My head feels like it was hit with a fucking jack hammer. I don't know how much I drank but it must have been a lot for me to have this much of a hangover.

Sliding my feet over the side of my bed, I move slowly enough so as not to make my head hurt any more than it already does. I turn the knob on my door and find Andrea sitting on the couch eating apple slices.

"Hey! You're up. I was wondering if you were going to wake up anytime this century," she laughs.

"Can you please explain to me what happened last night?" I take a seat next to her while looking down at my lap. I notice that I'm still wearing my dress from last night.

"Well. . .you kind of got really drunk and Elijah took you home," she shrugs, then goes back to watching her show.

"That's it? Damn, I was worried something worse happened." I stand from my spot on the couch and turn back to look at Andrea. "I'm gonna go get changed," I mumble, then go back into my room.

As I'm about to get changed, I see a small glass of water, some pills and a piece of paper on my nightstand. I walk over and see that it's some ibuprofen for my headache. I pick up the note and call out to Andrea. "Hey Andrea—" My words get cut off when I see what's on the note.

It's a drawing of me.

What looks to be like me, sleeping and the light streaming in tells me that it was drawn sometime in the early morning. The shading is really nice and it makes me look almost. . .peaceful?

I turn over the paper and see messy handwriting scrawled across it.

I had to leave but I left you some ibuprofen for your soon to be headache and the drawing. Do with it what you want. I don't really care.
—E.

Did he really draw this? And especially for me? I don't understand. He's usually so closed off and reserved. I don't believe that he was actually the one to take me home and make sure I was safe.

My mind keeps telling me that he thinks I'm annoying or that we're not friends but I refuse to give up that easily. I'll just go and ask him later though.

Popping two of the pills in my mouth and washing it down with water, I grab some spare clothes and head to the bathrooms.

I strip off my clothes and let the hot water run down my back and sear my skin. The feeling makes me light, and warm as if I'm in a cloud. And as my thoughts stray to nowhere, I realize that my life isn't really going anywhere.

Am I even doing what I want? Taking my life by the rains and doing what makes me happy. I feel like sometimes I'm chasing after a dream that doesn't even exist. And that one day, it will.

The endless loop of getting up, going to classes, hanging out with friends and doing the exact same thing day in, and day out. I can't help but feel trapped. Why? I don't know.