Ruins of a Teenage Underground

Do you ever just stop for a moment, and think what if? Like, what if you took a different bus, and ended up meeting your soulmate? Or what if you left the house two minutes earlier than usual, and ended up getting in a fatal car crash? The scenarios are endless, really. But for me, my what ifs would never get answered. Things like, "What if my mother had survived that fire?" and, "What if I had never met Sam?"

What if Turner hadn't been outside that night? Would have ever done the thing I did?

Probably not.

***

The first thing I notice when I wake up, besides the fact that I feel like absolute garbage, is that I am laying in a puddle of my own vomit. This realization is immediately followed by two more realizations: One, the window must be open, because it's nippy as hell in here, and two, someone is distantly yelling at me get off of their couch. However, I am very hungover, possibly still drunk, and want no part in the outside world's shenanigans right now.

"Oi, I'm seriously going to call the police if you don't tell me who you are."

I roll over slowly at the mention of the police, and open one eye at a time until a small woman comes into focus. She looked pissed, and also like she does a lot of yoga in her spare time.

"I live here." I snap at her, attempting to push myself up in to a sitting position. It takes me three tries, but I'm finally able to remain upright.

"No, you don't. You broke in through the window at some point last night, and passed out on my couch."

Hm. As hungover as I was, I had to admit that it appeared that she was right. Which was unfortunate, because I had puked on her couch, which everyone knows it way worse than puking on your own couch. Also, I had somehow misplaced my pants.

"Well, shit." I said, looking down at my bare legs, covered in mysterious scratches that I didn't remember getting. I staggered to my feet, and looked out the open window. The good news was that I was actually in the right building. The bad news was that I had somehow scaled up to the fifth floor balcony, instead of the sixth floor balcony where I lived. I had been so close.

"I am sorry to say that I was very drunk last night, and apparently broke into your flat thinking it was actually my flat, because I live directly above you. I did wonder when we got two cats, but now you have made it clear to me that I am indeed not in my flat. I am in your flat, and I have lost my pants, and I am very sorry, and I am also very hungover. Please refrain from calling the police on me."

She just shook her head at me, but it was more out of pity than out of anger, which I took as a good sign. Without another word, she disappeared into the kitchen, probably to grab some paper towels to clean up the puke.

I ran my hands over my hair, groaning when I felt how knotted and tangled it was. No amount of leave-in conditioner would be able to fix it this time. With a sigh, I licked my thumb and rubbed it under my eyes in an attempt to take off the day old eyeliner that I knew was probably there. The least I could do was make myself slightly more presentable for when Yoga Lady returned.

"Here, drink this. You'll feel better." she told me as she rounded the corner back into the living room, holding a huge mason jar in her hand. I took it from her, and tried not to look heart broken. I had been really hoping for coffee, but instead she handed me a jar full of wild berries and leaves and twigs and other unnecessary shit that was probably really healthy for you but definitely didn't belong in a smoothie. However, she had been nice enough to not kick me out yet, so I took a sip. It tasted like avocado. I wanted to cry.

"Do you happen to know where my pants are by any chance?"

"No, sorry. I'm pretty sure those were already gone before you climbed in through the window."