18 Fading Zen

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Louis woke up to what felt like a small infant screaming very, very loudly into his ear. He reached over to pick up the shitty 80's phone. A kind gentleman spoke. "Mr. Tomlinson, this is your courtesy wake up call. It is 6-o'-clock now. Your first meeting starts at 6:30."

"Fuck off." His voice was about three octaves lower than normal and cracked so it ended up sounding like a slurred together 'uckoff'.

"With all due respect Mr. Tomlinson, your check out is also scheduled for 6:30, and you will need to vacate the room by then, as we already have it booked for later this afternoon. I would be happy to arrange your move to a different room if you'd like."

"Fucking bastard. I'm up. Christ." And he threw the phone at the receiver, hitting it way too loudly for his liking.

Why the fuck do I have a hangover?

Where the fuck am I?

What the fuck is going on?

He groaned loudly. His groan quickly turned into a whimper when he irritated his headache even more.

He opened his eyes.

Why the fuck am I naked?

What the fuck is on my chest?

Did I have a fucking wet dream?

Louis experimentally touched his hand to the cracked translucent-white film that spread across his abs and chest.

He laid his head back on his pillow, not equipped for critical thinking in such a state this early in the morning.

What time did he say it was?

I have 30 minutes to pack and shower?

Where the fuck is my phone?


He looked over to the nightstand and saw an empty quarter-size tequila bottle.

No phone. Apparently I had tequila though.

Mentally shunning himself for such an irresponsible action, he sat up and started patting around the bed. He found it wedged between the headboard and the mattress.


Fucking fantastic.

Not having time to charge it, he shoved it in his pocket and put the charging cord in the other.

He opened his suitcase and haphazardly threw his clothes into it, then cursed himself when he had to dig through everything to find his bottle of paracetamol. Swallowing the pills without any water, he choked it down then went to turn on the shower to warm it up. Chaotically throwing everything back into his suitcase again, he kicked it when he realized his clean clothes were at the bottom of everything.

"Mother fucking Jesus! Why?!"

He dumped his suitcase upside down and dropped it to the ground on top of his clothes. Pushing it aside, he decided to deal with it after his shower. He had to calm down.

Stepping into the shower begrudgingly, he rued the wonderful hot steam that he wouldn't be able to revel in for very long.

What's today? Check out is today. That would make it... Saturday. Right.

Plane leaves at 6, which means I should leave for the airport at 3 since LAX is a fucking nightmare on Saturday nights. Fucking management getting us flights for the busiest time of the week.

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