College Ruled

twenty-two

| 22 |
____________

I WAKE up to the wind.

       It whistles against Grayson's window with a strength that has me rolling over to face the sound of the creaking wall. My body jolts, my memory of the past few nights urging my reflexes to prepare for the short fall it will take for me to drop from the loveseat to the floor.

It never comes.

My face safely burrows into a pillow identical to the overly fluffy one my head was just laying on. Except this one smells like him—like eucalyptus soap and aftershave.

         I draw in a deep breath as another rattle of wind rustles through the room.

        It's dark thanks to Grayson's blackout curtains—so dark that if it weren't for the blinking clock on his bedside table, and the teeny-tiny sliver of light between the curtain folds, I'd believe it was still the middle of the night.

       Instead, it's well past noon.

On a Sunday.

My study day.

Great.

I begrudgingly force myself to sit up, ignoring the aches in my spine and neck. They're just a reminder—along with my pounding temples and dry eyes that yearn to creep back shut—of what a terrible idea last night was.

Going out was one thing. One horrible, unwanted, awkward infestation waiting to happen. But deliberately trying to get myself drunk, too?

Good fucking plan, Rem. Now you get to spend the rest of the day feeling like shit.

        I groan. Because any other sounds (like, I don't know... words) are deemed unreachable by my pouting brain.

My hair tumbles over my shoulder in haphazard tangles as I shift forward. Based on the vague memories fluttering in the back of my head, it was sleeting last night by the time we left the club, and my once-straightened hair has frizzed up to its usual state: a mess teetering somewhere between wavy and curly.

I don't remember taking my hair down (I doubt I managed it by myself), but I'm entirely grateful to whoever did. Along with all the other pains in my ancient body—which includes the dull ache that prickles at my ankle when I roll out from the covers and force my feet onto Grayson's floor—the extra tug and pinch on my nerves would have been hell.

Darkness climbs into my vision as my head rushes. Another groan tumbles between my teeth as I slap a palm against the wall to support myself, reaching my other hand up to put pressure on my forehead in hopes—

I pause.

There's another goddamn sticky note on my forehead.

Grayson Katz you mother—

         I yank it off and turn it over, straining my eyes to read it in the poor light.

went for run.
                         —gray
p.s. for your sanity: I slept on
the loveseat. even though you
begged me not to. you're welcome