Uncertain

34-Learning to fly

The world was blurry when I first opened my eyes. I closed them. The second time I was able to outline the space around me, the unfamiliar room around me. It was pretty small, and the bed where I was laying was covering almost fully the room. The walls were white, but there were pictures everywhere on them making it more, something. The floor was covered with piles of clothes, and the room wasn't very clean.

I closed my eyes again.

Three words: I felt horrible. It was the morning after, and it definitely hit heavier than ever. Awful headache, nausea, sweating and huge regret. Hangover was definitely a good word to describe it. My throat was sore, and I wasn't sure if any voice would escape me. My eyes were stinging and even the tiny light coming from the little window was too much.

My clothes were on the floor mixed with the other piles of clothes, and I was wearing a huge black t-shirt. I couldn't see my reflection, but I was sure that it wasn't very glowing. I felt how my eyes were puffy, how the little bit of mascara left on my eyelashes were gluing my eyes close. My whole face was probably swollen, and the red lipstick on my lips was, at least partly, on the white sheets.

I groaned when I heard steps just outside the door. It was opened carefully, trying not to wake me up.

"Oh shit, you're awake." Ava looked at me a tiny bit of amuse on her face. "I brought you some brekkie, you want?"

I looked at the tray on her hands. A huge cup of coffee, a little bagel which was clearly burnt, a deformed apple, painkillers and a glass of orange juice. She wasn't a chef, clearly, but I appreciated the coffee and the painkiller.

"This was the last bagel, I would've otherwise made you a non-burnt one." She spoke. "And the apple, it might be rotten, and I don't know how to make coffee, so, the coffee might not be good, and the orange juice, well, it's just orange juice."

Ava looked at lot more well-being than I did.

Her hair was braided into two French-braids. She was wearing a white hoodie and sweats. She had eyepatches under her eyes, and she did not smell like she hadn't been in the shower for years. She didn't even look a single bit tired, and she didn't look like her head was killing her or that she wanted to throw up every other second.

"You look like shit." She commented, placing the tray on the nightstand next to the table.

"Ava..."

"I know, it's fine." She shook her head, and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Just to let you know that I like really really want to be your friend, and I'm not trying to please my sister by hanging out with you."

"They hate me, don't they?"

My memories from the night weren't clear, but I did remember the exact words that I had said to my new and by the time old friends. No, I don't know what the matter with me was, and why I had said those things to probably the only people that had been hanging out with me after weeks of being all alone.

"Yup."

"I'm so sorry, I don't know why I..."

"You shithead." A familiar voice spoke from the door cutting off my sentence. "It's not a nice way of waking up in the middle of the night to my fiancé's call telling me that my very drunk sister is in her parents' house."

"She called you." I cringed.

Bryson walked next to the bed and slapped my head.
"She obviously called me."

"What did she say?"

Abby was engaged to my brother. They were together twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and fifty-three weeks a year. Obviously, Abby had told my brother that she had picked me up from some random girl's house drunk and messy. I knew that, but I didn't think that I would have to face him instantly after waking up while having a massive hungover.