razorblade | sebastian vettel ✓

chapter 1 | last night's mistakes

«I should not be left to my own devices, they come with prices and vices, I end up in crisis...tale as old as time.»

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Cassandra rolled on her back and groaned in pain at the insane headache she was feeling. When she said she was aware she needed to deal with her issues, Cassandra never specified how she would deal with them. Obviously getting shitfaced at a random pub was way cheaper than a bunch of therapy sessions, and way more enjoyable in her opinion. Well, enjoyable if she didn't count the aftermath.

Still...cheaper than therapy.

She tried to open her eyes, but immediately regretted it and squeezed them shut to avoid the blinding light coming from the big window in her room. Making sure the curtains were closed was a sidenote she'd save in her brain for another time. At the moment, her mind was focusing on how Abigail would probably murder her, and the number of missed calls and text messages from her best friend that were expecting her when she checked her phone. It was very nice of Abigail to care for her, Cassandra appreciated that even if sometimes it felt a bit suffocating.

Her friend had only good intentions.

"Fuck." Cassandra growled in pain and rubbed her temple.

Opening one eye, or trying to, she spotted the mess in her room. There were clothes everywhere, empty bottles of whatever she was drinking last night, and a cigarette butt next to an empty little plastic bag; she had gone all in the night before. The particular open food container on the floor caught her attention, and she wondered at what point of the night she had stopped to buy food, and then the simple sight of it made her stomach churn. She placed a hand over her mouth, trying to swallow the need to throw up. It worked for a few seconds before it was too much and she felt the acid taste in her throat.

She almost stumbled but managed to get out of bed and ran straight to the bathroom. It didn't even give her enough time to hold her hair properly before she found herself throwing her guts up inside the toilette. Cassandra grimaced at the weird mix of flavours and the disgusting smell. Sometimes she did wonder why she did that to herself, but it was mostly when half her head was deep inside the toilette.

After dry-heaving one last time to make sure that was all she had left to let out, Cassandra remained seated on the bathroom floor. There was something so poetically depressing about the scene, she didn't even want to imagine how she looked like.

The sudden and loud noise of her phone ringing somewhere from the bedroom was the only thing capable of snapping her out of it. She hesitantly stood from the floor, flushed the toilette and washed her mouth before dragging her feet back to where the noise was coming from. A loud groan escaped her lips again at the reminder of her headache and nausea. It was bad, it felt so bad.

She fiddled with the sheets until she finally found her phone, her brows furrowed when she read Gareth's name — he was a coworker, or ex-coworker, actually, a friend — on the screen. In all fairness, it was always her best friend Abigail the one who called to make sure she hadn't died.

"What do you want?" She plopped down on the bed and took a deep breath. Her eyes felt heavy, they could barely remain open and it was taking a lot of effort from her to stay awake.

Her friend snorted in a mocking way. She grimaced at the sound. "Good morning to you too, beautiful. Or should I say...good mourning?" Cassandra rolled her eyes at the poor attempt at a joke. "I'm assuming you're a bit hungover. I mean, you're not a ray of sunshine but you're way nicer when you're sober."

"I feel like shit."

"I can tell." Gareth chuckled. At least one of them was having fun. "Abigail called me, she's worried about you. Not really surprising."