Cigarettes and Hickies [n.h]

deux

A ray of sunshine squeezed through the small cigarette-burned hole on the curtain and slowly creeped over the girl's still body on the bed. She frowned as the light caught her eyes and her eyelids became red. It was time to wake up.

Her consciousness was lazily waking, and registering the sounds around her. Her flat mate, Scarlette, was hoovering.

"For the love of Christ," she got up in a haste, quickly wiping the mascara from the side of her eyes with the back of her hand and tying her unbrushed hair into a bun, before jumping over the pile of clothes on the floor, almost tripping in the process, and storming out of the room.

"Scarlette, what the hell are you doing?!"

Scarlette wasn't listening. She had her headphones in and was bending in a slight awkward position trying to get the dust bunnies from under the couch. What made her jump was the sudden power cut, from the unplugging of the machine. The girl's flatmate turned her head and noticed the angry look her friend was now carrying.

"Well, look who's risen from the dead," She said coolly, and walked towards her friend and pulled the hoover's wire from her hands.

"I was sleeping-"

"Ocean, it's half past twelve and the flat needed cleaning. If your royal highness allows it, I need to carry on," she plugged the hoover in again, and went back to her former position.

Ocean scratched her head without a further word and looked at the clock. Bloody hell, she thought, before making her way towards the small kitchen. The kitchen was a shambles, but Ocean frankly didn't care. Her flatmate and her had already gotten into several arguments as to whose turn it was to clean it. Ocean always faked an excuse, and Scarlette had eventually given up.

She made her way through the dirty dishes and found a glass half empty with what she thought was water, but when she took a gulp, the burning sensation in the back of her throat told her it was actually vodka. Ocean cursed under her breath, and placed the glass on the side. I will drink this later, she thought, and then miraculously found a clean container by the window which she filled with water from the tap.

After finishing her drink, she filled the same container with milk and poured some cornflakes on top and added her usual two spoonfuls of sugar, and went to sit on the table. She wasn't really hungry, as the memories of the events from yesterday afternoon came rushing to her mind, but she knew very well she had to eat if she wanted to drink alcohol without chundering later on.

Scarlette's footsteps suddenly grew louder as she made her way to the kitchen. To Ocean's relief she noticed that she had turned off the hoover.

"How're you feeling?" Scarlette asked in her usual cool voice.

Ocean felt like she was lying in the ocean, alone and drifting to complete oblivion. His face was like a melody in her head; refusing to leave.

She shrugged a shoulder and kept the spoon in her mouth as she said, "like jumping off a cliff."

Her friend laughed momentarily and picked up the newspaper that was under Ocean's container. She knew very well to divert the subject, being familiar with Ocean's firy temper, she knew she was likely to snap at any given chance and knew that prolonging her grief wasn't going to cause any good either. "Next you'll be telling me, you'll be eating from a blender,"

Ocean only frowned she hadn't come up with that idea herself. She said nothing, but mentally took note of that option for next time.

"But seriously," Scarlette added as she leaned back and turned the newspaper open, "this kitchen's turned into a shithole, and most of those dishes aren't even mine,"