Little Lexi || DDLG

Chapter 11

A/N: updated as of 5/28/2020

I wake up slowly. The first thing I feel is the soft carpet under my cheek. The next thing I notice is that my throat is on fire, but a different kind of fire than last night. This kind of fire is the fire that feels like the tender flesh on the inside of your throat is cracking and peeling off slowly with the added pleasure of salt being slowly sprinkled on the raw wound. "Fuck," I croak hoarsely. This wakes up Rachel to my left, who's also sprawled on the ground. She squints and tries to sit up before slamming her palm to her head and groaning.

At this point, Declan awakes on the couch and rolls off, landing with a muffled thump on the floor.

"Declan, bring Lexi and I some water. Now." Rachel commands hoarsely. He blinks at her. "You're still chief bartender, dammit," she prods him. He stumbles over to the cabinets and pulls out a couple bottles of water, tossing them to us. I make no move to catch mine and it lands on my back. I still can't bring myself to care enough to admonish him; I have just enough energy to flail around until it's within my grasp, uncap it, and start chugging.

"I feel like I've been hit by a truck," Rachel says in a tone like she's discovered one of the fundamental truths of life. I remember just enough of last night's events to remember that we got drunk to a point where Rachel and I started doing CrossFit exercises. I realize that my thighs are sore, but it's nothing compared to the pain in my calves and abs.

"Guys, it's nine fifteen," Declan says out of the blue. I can't comprehend exactly what this means or how it relates to me; I can't really think at all past the sensation that tiny men with hammers have taken up residence in my skull.

"Guys, it's nine fifteen," Declan says again, more urgently this time.

"So what?" Rachel says, slurring the words slightly.

And then it hits me. "It's the end of first period," Declan explains. "You have to get to school!"

"No," I groan, still in a heap on the floor. I can't remember ever getting as drunk as I did last night and I've definitely never been this hungover.

"Lexi, we do have to get to school, actually," Rachel says reluctantly. "Remember? We can't miss any more time or it'll count as being out the whole day, and seniors can't skip full days during the last week."

I mutter fruity obscenities into the truly beautiful carpet and struggle up three flights of stairs to my bathroom, where I kind of fall into the shower and try to wash myself but fail because hangovers suck. Then, I'm tasked with dressing myself, which is a huge struggle. I throw on an old cross-country shirt and a pair of running shorts. Finally, I put my hair into a devastatingly beautiful messy ponytail and throw on some mascara and boom! My bum look is complete.

"Where's your hairspray?" Rachel calls from my room. I frown and trudge from the bathroom to where she is, and point to my dresser. She somehow managed to steal my clothes and get dressed while I was "fixing myself up", not to mention put her hair into a gorgeous French twist and apply runway-ready makeup.

"I hate you," I grumble, feeling marvelously inadequate compared to Miss Model, and trudge downstairs to grab my phone and a piece of bread to take in the car. I think Declan is probably still downstairs, but as I'm fairly certain he's still alive, I don't bother to check.

Rachel meets me at the front door and we head out to my car. The drive to school is spent in merciful silence—any noise above a loud whisper is intolerable. Even though she may look amazing on the outside, it's clear that Rachel's still hungover.

We make it to school in time for second period, which just so happens to be history. James's eyes widen slightly as he sees my disheveled self collapse onto my desk and appear to die. He pokes me and whispers "Are you okay?" in my ear.