Artgirl

4// sweater weather

CHAPTER 4: SWEATER WEATHER

james to the side

"The problem with love is I'm blinded by it; (it) rattles my lungs. But my mind is
tangled between your little flaws," - the Neighbourhood

Nicolas Bear Forrest

SUN rarely irritated me. When it did, it was on exceptional, almost nonexistent days where I'd be walking back from university and its heat formed sweat buds rolling down my skin-that was the only time I felt nostalgia for autumn or spring. But when it poked onto my shut eyelids with persistence, I wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

"Get the fucking sun out of the way, Adrian," I mumbled.

I struggled to pull the covers over my head; they no longer protected my feet. I realized that my own covers were always long enough for me to hide my face and my feet, my eyes shot open.

"Morning, sunshine," said a teasing female voice.

I stopped rolling around on what felt like a couch, only to realize that there wasn't enough space for me to move like I was. Therefore, that led to me ending up on a carpet, a trashcan close by.

Drilling in my head and loss of reality was the trigger for me to understand that I had drank too much. That wasn't a dilemma, though. The only problem was-I had no idea where I was.

The girl, whom I assumed was the one to have spoken, was Zoey's friend: Jessie. She wore a shirt that covered her thighs, a bright smile and a hand that offered to help me up.

"C'mon, then. Take my hand," she insisted, the other hand holding a mug that read: I ROCK, I RULE, with cartoon drawings of a rock and a ruler lifting stick hands in the air. Signed at the bottom of the mug was z.h.

Zoey Hunter.

I shook my head and searched for the cushion of the couch with my hands, lifting my body up on the comfort of a seat. Tugging on my hair in desperate hopes to ease the pain spreading in my head, I looked at Jessie. "Where am I?"

"Casa de la Zoey et de la Jessie," she got up and opened a cabinet in a light brown wooden kitchen, in which the refrigerator and oven stood out like peas within carrots.

She handed me two pills and a glass of water, "drink up, buttercup."

Since Jessie had tried, in vain, to give me an opportunity to talk to Zoey one more time, I had decided to trust her. She didn't seem like someone who would try to poison me. (Or at least I hoped so.)

"Thanks," I murmured. I gulped down the pills and water, the simple effort of the actions causing me to shut my eyes and let my head fall back on the couch.

I'm at Zoey's place.

Shit.

I looked around, "Is she here?"

"No," shrugged Jessie. Almond shaped coffee eyes rolled in their sockets in annoyance, "she's handling the store for a bit. I'm supposed to be going down there in an hour, or else she'll kill me."

I set the glass on their table. She sat next to me, short legs crossed on the table. She looked at me, around me and then lifted my foot, taking a TV remote. Turning on the TV, she sipped onto her coffee as if I didn't exist.

"How in the world did I end up here?"

Jessie hummed, "you drank a little bit too much. And might have puked all over Zoey. You might have embarrassed yourself enough to last for fifty years."