Diamonds, Loose (Ryden)

Part 1

Little and often. That about explains the frequency of the stupid things I do, the ones that happen before I think it through. Thing is, though, I know this about myself, and yet I still continue to do them anyway, those things that inevitably end up here, with me sprawled under the sheets, lying where I fell. The pounding in my head throbs against the faint rushing in my ears, and when I pry my eyes open all I see is the filtered dark under the bedcovers. My mouth is dry, feels rough. Groaning lowly, I peek out from under the sheet covering my head and immediately screw my eyes shut, the early morning sunlight streaming in through the window, fucking undrawn curtains, and the throb in my head intensifies.

Mentally flipping through a calendar, I scrub a hand across my face, kneading at my closed eyes as I realise that, yes, this is a Monday morning on which I have to be at school. In less than an hour.

"Shit. Fucking fuck," I hiss out, slightly impressed at how articulate I'm managing to be. This, I think to myself, words forming somewhere in my fuzzy brain, has got to be the hardest feat known to man. Something rumbles past outside, a truck, maybe, and it's background noise but it feels to me like it's shaking the house to the core. Or, no, not the house; just me. I cast my eyes over to the alarm clock sitting face-down on my bedside table, amongst tons of clutter. Fumble for it, turn it over. 7:45. After some dazed little reminder in the back of my mind informs me that homeroom starts at 8:30, I take a deep breath, summon all the strength left in me and throw back the covers, swinging my legs over the side of the bed in one movement. I'm pretty proud of myself.

The headache, though, it's getting worse with every move I make that doesn't point towards more sleep, and I let out another quiet groan as I meander across the room, picking my way through the usual debris: clothes, CD's, books, tangled headphones. My phone catches my eye, poking out of the pocket of the black jeans I wore last night, and I stoop to get it, flip it open. Two new messages, both from Spencer. ross im ur bestfriend, there better be a gd reason u ignored my calls last nite or else.>:(! I roll my eyes and select the next one, sent a few minutes after. o and dnt forget about the math hw.phillips will kill u!! I make a frustrated noise and smack my hand to my forehead, instantly wincing as the ache worsens. I forgot.

Sighing, I shrug it off. I used to care about things like that a lot, but now – big deal, you know. Phillips isn't the boss of me. Like I need surds anyway. I tap out a quick response, yea there was a good reason don't worry spence..also phillips can smd lolol, and leave the phone on my bed. When I reach the door I stop a little, straining to hear over the white noise in my head, listening for any sound. It's silent, they're at work. I open it, slowly to muffle the creak because I always feel like I'm disturbing something when the house is this alone, this quiet.

I run my hand through my hair and head for the shower, down the hall. I let the pyjama pants I'm wearing drop as I walk in, turning on the water and not really caring about the temperature. The water's not hot, but warm, and it's good enough for me. God, anything is, I don't even care, I just want to sleep. Hibernate. What the fuck ever. Tipping my head back, I sigh a little, content, a little of the fuzziness around the edges slipping away with the water as it runs down my body. I look down, notice a small but dark bruise on my hip and I smile crookedly, eyes falling shut as the hazy memories from the night before flood back in.

There was a gig. A really nothing band, just starting out, with shaky voices and shakier melodies and a drummer who didn't know the meaning of rhythm. Flyers had been pinned up all around the school, on notice boards and walls, windows, tucked into the wipers on teachers' cars in the parking lot, and people had scoffed, laughed because who would want to go to that? They're unknown, they're awful, they're not worth the entrance fee. I had sat and laughed along, musing, "The world would be better if local bands actually played some decent music," as I screwed up one of the flyers, and earned myself nods of agreement, a couple of claps on the back and a, "See? Ryan knows bullshit when he sees it, dude."