I am throwing up so hard I am convinced my stomach is going to come up my throat and out of my mouth. The mental image makes me gag harder as the persistent knocking on the stall door rings in my ears.
"My turn!"
"Yeah, okay," I reply and try to get back on my feet. The world sways as I have the worst hangover known to man. I flush the toilet and fumble out of the stall. I am too sick to even smirk that it's Brendon Urie who rushes in, hand over his mouth. The door slams shut after him, and I head over to the sinks.
The toilets along our corridor are busy this morning. Someone put something nasty in the punch bowl, and half of the Sigma house is puking right now. It's early in the morning, but no one seems all too upset about the mess. If anything, there is that sense of brotherhood again, an atmosphere of "How funny we're all vomiting!"
After the oath-taking last night, the Sigmas did as Patrick told them: they partied. That includes me. So most of it is blurry, but I remember dancing, streaking (that wasn't me, though) and singing some goddamn awful karaoke with Sisky. I found my way back to our room some time in the early morning before crashing into bed. Alcohol makes me horny, last night was no exception, but I kept my hands to myself like a good boy. Though, when I woke up, I had one hand in my boxers, so I suspect that I tried to jerk off before bed but passed out in the middle of it. Or maybe I tried to jerk off in my sleep? In any case, it was a failed attempt, and I woke up with last night's liquor coming up my throat
As I wash my hands, I hear puking sounds. I hope it's Brendon.
I need to have a shower. There is no avoiding it anymore, because I am getting disgusting. But the showers are busy this morning, so I will wait for it to quiet down. I go back to our room and hide under the covers, closing my eyes and rubbing my stomach softly. Being a Sigma is a lot harder than you'd think.
Brendon comes back, crashing on his bed and groaning. I feel like making a lame joke, because we're in this together. But I say nothing, because Brendon still hates me. I hate him too, really. Really, I do!
I look to my side, watching Brendon on his bed, rubbing his eyes like the world is spinning. I look away and sigh. It's ridiculous how little I hate him. I was never the type to hold a grudge. I'm back to hoping that we will become friends or at least friendly or if not that, perhaps pleasant.
"I heard a rumour that Spencer and Sisky spiked the punch," Brendon says.
I look at him again, and I see him watching me. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Nice of them."
"Isn't it just," Brendon agrees. "You sure know how to pick your friends."
And yes, how did I not see this one coming? Brendon didn't initiate conversation because he wanted to talk; he only wanted to take stabs at me. Naturally, what else can I expect from my brother, my roommate, the one and only Brendon Urie?
"I've made an observation," I tell him in return.
"Just one?" he asks sarcastically.
"Everyone likes you, Brendon," I tell him, and it's true. I turn my eyes back to the ceiling and say, "But you have few friends."
It's true too. Everyone likes him, Brendon is charming and witty. He probably has three hundred phone numbers in his phone, he is one of those guys. He can always get someone to go out for lunch with, someone to go to the cinema with. But if shit hit the fan and he needed help, he wouldn't have anyone to call. So yeah, maybe I was in the same situation a few weeks back myself, and maybe Spencer is a former stalker, but you know what? If I murdered someone, Spencer would rush over with two shovels ready. And I would do the same for him, mostly because I know he'd do it for me. And William, I've gotten a lot closer to him too, so I can say I have two real friends now, and that's more than Brendon has going for him.
