Infinite [h.s.]

6. breath of fresh air

🎵Dreaming of You — Cigarettes After Sex

Sunday, 2:15 a.m.

"For fuck's sake, Mitch!" I hiss, hauling his body onto the sofa. There's no fucking way I'd be able to carry him up the stairs to put him in the bed.

For such a lanky guy, you'd think he wouldn't be this heavy — it has to be all the alcohol sitting there in his system, there's no other reason.

He never gets this drunk; while I may seem frustrated, part of me is real happy my friend is able to have some fun when he comes to New York. I hardly ever see him like this.

"Don't tell Sarah," he mumbles, and I shake my head, covering his body with the blanket I brought from upstairs in the guest bedroom.

"Too late," I reply, already having sent Sarah a bunch of photos of a drunk Mitch. "She's pissed, she said you better make that flight, or else."

Mitch mutters something unintelligible and I shake my head, walking towards the kitchen. I grab a few bottles of Gatorade from the refrigerator and some Tylenol from the cabinet. I also cut up some bread and lather it with peanut butter before laying it out on a plate, setting these all on the coffee table when I make my way back to the living room.

"We've gotta leave the house at 7:30 if you want to make your flight, you have about 5 hours to sober up," I say, hoping to God that he's listening.

Mitch mumbles to himself yet again and I sigh, heading up the stairs. As I walk up I call out, "I mean it, Rowland!"

I walk down the hall to my bedroom, heading straight into the master bath. I immediately peek my clothes off, turning on the shower in the process and wait for it to steam up.

All that floods my mind are thoughts of Aurelia.

Her sweet scent, her cute little sunflower tattoo, her soft breaths as I touched her cheek...our lips barely touched, yet I find myself wanting more.

What I would give to kiss her.

I can't believe I was with her only half an hour ago. She seems to overtake my senses, clouding them with her radiance. Maybe it's the alcohol that's still swimming in my veins, but I'm already dying to see her again.

Perhaps tomorrow, I should call her and—

Wait a minute; we never exchanged numbers.

There's no way she could even contact me if she wanted to; it's not exactly easy, it's not as if she could shoot me a DM or look me up on social media.

My life is anything but ordinary.

"Fuckin' stupid," I mumble to myself as I slide the shower doors. "How fucking stupid could you be, Styles?"

The water cascades down my back as I step into the shower, and I shut my eyes, letting the hot water fall over me as I let myself delve into my thoughts.

Monday, 8:42 p.m.

"It's right here, Tom, thank you," I say, pointing out the window towards the bar. The neon red letters light up the pavement as I open the car door, stepping outside.

The Crimson Lounge — I'm back here again, determined to seek out pretty Aurelia. I'd gone over it in my head yesterday probably a million times as I lazily strummed on my guitar yesterday afternoon, nursing my hangover.

But, I ultimately decided I've got nothing to lose. I want to see her again, and judging by the way we almost kissed Saturday night, maybe it won't be so farfetched to think she'd like to see me, too.