When We Fall

t w e l v e

.12|saige
-not edited-

MY HEAD FEELS LIKE it's in one of those pressure thingys. Like the videos where they crush things and it's either satisfying or horrible. Yeah, well my head is suddenly one of those rubber balls they crush inside of them that always pop too fast.

I groan as I open my eyes, the dark room I'm met with confuses me, I never sleep with my curtains shut. I like to wake up to daylight, so I don't sleep in too long, but judging by the sunlight seeping around the edges of my curtains is must be early afternoon at least - the time the sun gets around to this side of the house.

The room is spinning, or maybe it's my head, I'm not really sure. But there's two things I do know.

1. I'm incredibly hungover, something that hasn't happened since before I went to rehab.

2. I need to pee really fucking bad.

My peaceful hangover migraine doesn't last long soon as I sit upright, and I barely make it to the bathroom before I'm puking every meal I've eaten in the past week.

Fuck, somebody should've told me that I hadn't drank more than one beer in a few years, and whatever the hell I did last night wasn't a good idea.

As I stand up and wash my face off, the little piece of stationary paper off my desk catches my attention, the sprawly handwriting still familiar to this day.

Saige,

Figured you might need these this morning, you were wasted last night. I have no idea what you drank that did you in like that, but I managed to get you to drink some water, and stayed with you long enough that alcohol poisoning should be out of the question, but you can't be too careful. Thought your lifelong dream of waking up next to me coming true might send you into shock, so I'm leaving, but I'm home if you need something. Emi and Lilah said they'll come over at some point. There's breakfast downstairs whenever you feel like it. I'm sorry about what happened last night, and I'm always prepared to beat Dalton's ass for you even though we aren't exactly on good terms anymore.

I'll have the brass knuckles ready, Cas

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Suddenly, despite the amount of guts I just threw up, drinking that amount again sounds like a pretty good damn idea as last night's events come rushing back to me all at once.

The party, beer pong, seeing Dalton and Kaitlynn, the backstabbing pain, drinking a shitload of alcohol.

Asking Cas to spend the night with me.

He drove me home from the party, and was surprisingly nice. And he made me drink the water, and change into a t-shirt. And then I asked him to stay with me. Fuck. I asked Cassius Dixon to sleep in my bed while I was drunk.

And he did it.

Well not really. It's a bit fuzzy but I remember him pulling extra blankets and pillows from my closet, and settling in the armchair in the corner of my room.

It's quite the sight to imagine, 6'2 quarterback Cassius Dixon in a small fluffy white armchair. His legs hanging over the sides, arms dangling off the back.

Along with the note there's two advil, which I happily swallow down, standing back up on shaky legs as I head down the stairs.

I'm still beyond pissed at Dalton, but I'll have time to sort my emotions on that later, because right now my two best friends are sitting in my living room with a tub of icecream, and there's mcdonalds nuggets on the counter.