After Midnight (a.i.)

59

Ashton's POV

The comedown really is a killer. The high from whatever I had left in my system and the adrenaline ride I just endured in the bathroom upstairs was slowly fading and I could feel my body shutting down. Exhaustion manifested itself as a headache, leisurely settling into every nook and cranny in my brain to ensure a night of suffering.

I didn't have many options, being with Cara at her family's house without supply. I didn't think it would set in this quick, not with the micro-dose earlier and the swigs of booze that have helped curb the withdrawals. I had to suck it up and take it like usual, power through the aches seeping into my head in the downstairs bathroom of Cara's fucking parent's house.

Her mum's party relented on the other side of the door regardless, muffled and growing more obnoxious with every drink taken from the bar. It was nearing nine, I'm a bit shocked a lot of these older folks are still here. I guess the party never ends.

I had to find somewhere to clean up anyway. Cara was upstairs doing the same. After clearing my post sex haze and catching my appearance in a mirror on my way down the stairs, I finally realized how beat up I looked. I beelined to the downstairs bathroom, keeping my head low and steps quick to hide the bystanders from the obvious battle scars covering me head to toe.

I almost forgot about beating Matty's ass. That's how bad she's got me.

I flick on the light and lock the door behind me, ensuring no interruptions. Once my eyes adjust to the damn near blinding fluorescents, I assess the damage.

My busted lip reflects in the mirror, dried blood staining the left corner of my mouth and fresher blood hardening directly at the source of the split in my bottom lip. The more I toy the more I can taste the metal on my tongue.  I'll admit, I'm surprised Matty managed that. I can't imagine the shape he's in.

I grab a wad of toilet paper, deciding against the stark white towels that stocked the rest of the bathroom that I'm sure didn't need to be bloodstained. I'd have no excuse for that, figured I'd save myself the trouble. The faucet creaks when I twist the handle, cold water splashing into the porcelain bowl below.

I impatiently wet the paper and bring it to my lip, cringing from the shocking contact while I start to wipe the red away. I wasn't too roughed up, just a split in my lip and a mild bloody nose, but my knuckles were growing swollen and sore with every movement and I almost don't even want to look at my hands.

I wipe the blood from my nostril with ease, cleaning up the trail from my nose down to my lip and at the very least making sure any visible trace of blood is gone from my face. My nose seems fine, no breaks or busts from what I can tell. I move onto my hands.

Taking account of my fingers with a wiggle, no breaks or injuries either. I'm good there. My right hand is pretty busted; knuckles torn up and skin stained red from Matt. Visibly I'm fine, just need to wash the blood and dirt off and I'll be good to go, but the more I prolong my use of my hand, the worse the ache is growing. It'll swell up and bruise, I'm sure. I'll probably be feeling the pain for a couple days at least from the exertion I put onto my fists, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. For now, I just wanted to clean up and go the hell home.

I feel my phone ring just as I'm about to reach for the faucet again. I think about ignoring it, but the very slim chance of it being Cara catches me. Could be important.

I pull the vibration from my back pocket and once I see who's calling, my eyes automatically roll before I answer. Not important.

"Yeah?" I speak into the device, lodging my phone between my ear and shoulder so I could continue cleaning myself up. Hopefully this will be quick.