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The only thing that Hardin could focus on was the throbbing in his head. That, and the bright sun streaming in through the window. Did it always have to be so fucking sunny in Atlanta?
He knew last night was going to be a mistake as soon as he took the red solo cup filled with shitty whiskey from Zed's hands. But of course, it was just too tempting to resist. And anyways, it was a celebration, right? The first night back on campus with the Delts to kick off the first semester of his sophomore year. Although, he's realizing that he definitely should have paced himself a bit better. Now all he had was a splitting headache and vague memories of knocking back shot after shot of vodka and another blurry, messy hookup with Molly.
Luckily for him she had left already. He wasn't sure that he could handle her so early in the morning. Well, afternoon, he thought, as he glanced at his alarm clock. He groaned as he pulled himself out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom.
He winced at his reflection in the mirror. The only word that could describe his appearance right now was rough. His dark hair was sticking up in every direction. Some pieces had plastered themselves to his forehead last night with sweat. He looked pale—and ill—with deep, dark circles under his eyes. Today his forest green eyes, which girls had told him were his best feature, looked tired and dull. People had always told him he was attractive, but today he couldn't really see it.
Leaning over the sink, he splashed cold water in his face, rubbing at his skin until it was red and raw. He couldn't shake the feeling of absolute grossness that permeated every semblance of his being. As he straightened himself up he noticed the red marks littered in between the dark ink that ran along his bare chest in deep intricate patterns. Molly, he thought, shaking his head.
Bending over, he picked a shirt up off of the bathroom floor and sniffed it. It was fine, he thought, and he slipped it over his head. It was his favorite shirt, a vintage black Ramones band tee that he'd had since high school. He actually only had three shirts in total— the black Ramones t-shirt, a yellow Strokes t-shirt, and a plain black t-shirt. He cycled through them on a never ending loop. It's not that he couldn't afford to have any other shirts, because he could. In fact, he could afford as many t-shirts as he wanted. But this was a choice. A fashion choice.
∞
When Hardin finally mustered up the energy to make his way downstairs, he couldn't help but notice the carnage from last night's party. Red solo cups and empty liquor bottles littered almost every surface of the house. Jackets had been abandoned, furniture moved, and there was a guy passed out on the couch that Hardin had never seen before in his life. In other words, this was just like any regular Tuesday in the Delt House.
Hardin had rushed Delta Tau Delta last semester. It had been entirely accidental. He was looking for Gilfreind Hall to meet up with a girl from his history class for a study date but ended up in Gilfreind Commons instead. It was a perfectly reasonable mistake, especially for a freshman. The campus had far too many buildings named after Godric Gilfreind— Gilfreind Hall, Gilfreind Commons, Gilfreind Gallery, Gilfreind Dining Hall, Gilfreind House, etc., etc. You name it, there was one called Gilfreind. Hardin understood that Godric Gilfreind and his family were the university's top donors, but did they really need to name every goddamned thing after them? It had made navigating campus way too needlessly complicated.
