Killer Kisses // h.s au

twenty-five. Meltdown

Meltdown

The liquid burned like fire as it ran down my throat but I deserved every ounce of pain it evoked. The glass filled with yet another shot of vodka and I tipped my head back to down it. This cycle continued until I lost count of shots and began counting bottles. My thoughts were clouded, my brain was fuzzy and my head was heavy. I was on top of the world yet had never felt so low. I knew I wouldn't find the answers to my problems at the bottom of the glass, but it would certainly prolong the questions.

Another joint was clumsily rolled up and I lit the end with Harry's lighter. I had my own, but I liked holding onto the things that belonged to him. As fucking pathetic as it sounded, it helped me feel closer to him.

Fuck, I was so whipped.

The weed calmed my racing mind but didn't succeed in bringing me to my utopia like I had hoped. Even the cocaine that I had been snorting for two days straight hadn't helped me forget those haunting, viridian eyes permanently burning into the back of my skull. It didn't matter how many drugs were streaming their way through my system, he was always there, lingering in my fucked-up head. This is my punishment. He is my punishment.

Glasses were soon given up on and I, instead, began drinking straight from the bottles. Curled up on the living room floor, I was clad in one of Harry's old shirts. Every once in a while I would lift the collar to my nose and inhale his scent; the familiarity was both comforting and harrowing.

My eyes stung and time seemed to decelerate every passing moment. Another drag of my joint was inhaled and I hugged my arms around myself. Just as I was pressing the joint out onto the ashtray, a wave of nausea hit me. Standing abruptly, I was ready to run to the bathroom and puke my guts out, when my knees buckled from under me and I collapsed onto the floor again. The room was spinning and it felt as if I was being dragged downwards by an invisible rope, but nevertheless, I heaved myself up once more and began drunkenly swaying out of the room. Barely able to walk, I couldn't hold it in any longer. I was passing the coffee table, when the contents of my stomach –consisting mostly of alcohol – decided to rise up out of my mouth. It splattered to the floor in a liquid-y, acidic, physical representation of my misery over the past few days.

Much after that, I couldn't remember. One moment I was standing there, staring down at the puddle of stomach booze. And the next, I'd lost my equilibrium, fell into the pile, and had the coffee table's corner catch my leg on the way down. The flesh ripped open, blood pooling out, and that was the amount of liquid escaping my body it took for the darkness to finally swallow me whole. 

____________________

"Hunter? Fuck, Hunter, are you okay?"

Through my distorted vision, I could see a dark-haired man towering over me. I could faintly trace the outline of his features, but the obscurity left him unknown to me.

"Harry?" I slurred, squinting my eyes shut from the blinding daylight leaking through the curtains.

"No, not Harry. Jesus, Hunter, your leg's covered in blood! And you're lying in your own vomit!"

"Harry?"

"Here, let me help you up." An arm snaked around to rest against my shoulder blades, and the other at the small of my back. I was hauled up into a sitting position, and that's when the headache smashed through my skull like a hammer. Yet I was too confused and disorientated to react to the pain. "Are you feeling okay? Can you see me?"

"Harry?"

"No, Hunter. It's Zayn. Remember me?"

I knew Zayn. "You spilled your drink over me at that party," I recalled, opening my eyes a little more so I could see him. He was still difficult to identify, but my vision was beginning to focus.