Drop Dead | Sam Fender

Chapter Thirty

Sam

I was awoken in the middle of the night by the pain in my head and the dryness of my mouth. I let out a pained moan and covered my eyes so they were able to adjust to the lack of light in the room, blinking them several times. Sitting up, I rolled my neck, which ached from having spent the night on the sofa and took a minute to myself to settle the nauseous feeling in my stomach. My head was pounding and my mouth felt drier than the desert, but it was of my own doing. Entirely self-inflicted, not that I would learn my lesson; I would most likely be in the same situation tomorrow or the day after.

I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of soft snores, my attention moving to the other sofa where Rory lay, curled up in a ball underneath one of my old blankets from when I was a bairn. I grimaced as my eyes trailed over her small frame. I knew she would struggle, later on, it wasn't the comfiest sofa, never mind when you couldn't fit on it properly.

"Why didn't ya sleep in my bed, ya numpty?" I asked quietly, mostly to myself as I pushed myself off my makeshift bed and made my way over to where she lay. I pulled the blankets back from her form and scooped her up into my arms, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead as she adjusted herself in her sleep to cuddle into my shoulder. I smiled down at her and carefully made my way up to my room so I could put her in my bed, tucking her underneath the covers. I was aware of how cold it was, made evident by the goosebumps that covered the skin of my arms.

I took a moment, perching myself on the side of the bed and admiring her, drinking in every crevice of her face, even the small crease between her brows that would deepen every so often. It was clear that she was dreaming and whatever it was she was dreaming about was causing her conflict. I watched her, my eyes full of contempt; contempt that was meant for me only. I hated that I was putting her into these situations, forced to endure my idiocy, but everything I tried only seemed to be in vain. I sighed quietly and brushed her hair from her face, my hand lingering on her cheek. I began to pull it away after several moments, the dryness in my mouth nagging me to get a drink of water, but I was frozen when she nuzzled into my touch. Leaning forward, I pressed my lips against her hair and forced myself away, traipsing back downstairs to get myself a drink and some tablets before retreating back to my 'bed' for the night.

I cringed as I noticed the bowl of sick next to the sofa, making the decision to empty it now rather than in a few hours. I quickly cleaned out the plastic bowl and replaced it in its rightful spot under the sink, eager to fill a glass of water to quench my thirst. I felt so dehydrated that I could've sworn I could smell the water as it sloshed around the glass, quickly downing the whole thing before filling it once more, this time taking two paracetamols with it in the hopes they would ease the hangover. Wishful thinking.

With a groan, I trudged back to my bed for the next couple of hours and curled myself up under the covers. The quiet ticking of the clock was so loud, tormenting me as I tried to fall back into a deep slumber. Quarter to four it read. I would have to be up in just over three hours if I was going to make it to school, not that I wanted to, but my mam was at her wit's end with me. I knew the lecture I was going to get tomorrow, it was the same as always, delivered so many times by now that it sounded almost rehearsed. I suppose she just didn't know what else to say anymore though and I didn't blame her. Her warnings clearly weren't getting through, so I didn't know why she continued to bother with them.