Facade

28|| hangover

song : Daddy Issues - The Neighbourhood

~ Gabriel ~

I've done it.

The experience I've been avoiding for my seventeen going on eighteen years of life has finally come.

The blistering headache from the moment I opened my eyes, the sensitivity to the light shining through the glass walls of my room, the lack of memory when I try to recall how I got here.

I have a hangover.

The sensation is unbearable, not just the hangover, but the fact that I have one to begin with. A strange sense of deja vu kicks in with the realization of why I'm here.

Cause of her.

Uncomfortably, I sit up in my bed, looking down at myself through squinted eyes. My body is still covered by the same black, button down and matching black slacks that I wore to the club last night, the most skin shown on me is from my rolled up sleeves and half unbuttoned shirt.

Further down, my slacks remain untouched, only wrinkled from my own tossing and turning throughout my drunken sleep.

If there was any other explanation, thank fuck I don't remember it.

And as my brows furrow further into my thinking, I'm realizing that I don't remember much of anything past ten pm.

I let my body crash down to it's previous place on the mattress with a groan, my head instantly pounding along with the force.

The light beaming in from every direction of the exposed walls does only more damage, even as I toss my forearm over my eyes.

Why don't I have fucking curtains?

All of a sudden, the piercing pounding of my brain against my skull somehow gets worse as the sound of a blender tears through the room.

Even muffled by my closed bedroom door and the kitchen's distance from my room to begin with, it sounds like a shriek from hell commencing right next to my goddamn eardrum.

I groan out louder, already knowing the kind of day I have ahead of me.

Removing my arm, I stare at the flat, white ceiling for less than ten seconds before absentmindedly rolling over to check my phone on the nightstand to the left of me.

The dim light, nothing compared to the sun shining into my room, still irks me while I try to focus on the date and time sketched onto the screen.

My brows furrow.

It's ten am on a Friday morning, why is there a blender sounding in my house that should be empty?

Lazily, I shut the phone off and toss it back onto the black surface, sitting up on the side of my bed. Once I'm up, I don't even bother to grab my gun from my other nightstand before I casually walk out of my room.

If there was a threat, they wouldn't be in my kitchen making a smoothie, they'd be in my room trying to shoot me.

Far enough into the living room, I find Beatriz as the source of the commotion behind the counter, pushing and releasing the button to blend whatever it is she's making.