Ecstasy, Misery

35 | show and tell

the way she move, i must confess

i'd like to run my hands up and down her legs

cover you in oil - ac/dc (1995)

July 1st, 1998

It's my first night back in my bed and it fucking sucks.

The last two nights were spent in the basement orgy nest with the girls since Nessa wanted to make up for what she missed out on, but Briella convinced her it would be best for her back to sleep in their bed again.

I swear Nessa was on the verge of asking all of us to squeeze into their bed with them, because she's missed us and being home so much, but there's no way all of us would fit on their full size mattress anyways.

And now it's almost 11 o'clock and I'm tossing and turning alone in my bed, because for the last twelve days, I've grown accustomed to being snuggled up against warm bodies.

It's not only my first night without cuddles, though. I've officially run out of my Oxy this morning and this is my first night without that in a while too. I had those couple nights off of it when Harry cut me off, but I was drunk for half of them.

Tonight I'm sober and oxy-less and my head is pounding despite the three Tylenol's I've taken.

When Harry confessed that he'd literally kill Dylan if he ever found out we were talking behind his back, I immediately felt guilty and scared; guilty that I was hiding something from Harry and scared Harry really would do something bad.

I know he couldn't have really meant he'd kill Dylan, but I wouldn't put it past him to beat him up or something. I know they work together and I know Dylan's above him in whatever type of ranking their little drug business has worked out and I really don't want Harry getting into some sort of trouble for doing something stupid to Dylan; especially about something so dumb in the first place.

So, instead of stopping in at The Wall after hours today, I decided to stay home.

I kind of wanted to spite Dylan too after that snide remark he made in front of Harry at Mango's; where he said he knew he'd see me by Wednesday.

I don't fucking need him or the Oxy; it's just a favor that he's doing for me.

But shit, I don't remember feeling like this when I had to take those couple days without them a couple weeks ago.

I really don't wanna cave and go see Dylan. It would hurt my pride too badly and, like I said, I just wanna get over it and move on now. The painkillers aren't worth dealing with Dylan anymore.

Except I really can't sleep.

And we're supposed to be waking up  early every morning this week; we've been working our asses off getting ready for our big Fourth of July comeback show at Mango's.

Plus, Connor's been relatively helpful this week, staying home a lot and spending time on the web with a Red Vine always hanging out of his mouth; apparently he found a really big competition in LA that's happening in August for amateur rock bands that he thinks we should enter. You have to have a minimum of three original songs though and so far we've only got one.