I find it hard to stay with the words you say (I don't love you sequel)

Chapter 1: The past.

I woke up, once again, regretting the previous events of last night.

>FLASHBACK<

I was in a bar, dancing with a group of girls who were practically throwing themselves at me. Someone smuggled some drugs into the bar, so automatically I took what I was offered and downed them with the booze.

"The amount of pills I've taken counteracts the booze I'm drinking," I mumbled to myself, as I felt the drugs kicking in and mixing with the alcohol inside of me. 

"Hey baby, wanna go back to my place?" I winked to one girl in particular who caught my eye.

"Sure," she grinned back, stumbling over from the tipsiness. I attempted to catch her, but failed miserably, and we fell to the floor in hysterics. We finally staggered back to my place and-

>FLASHBACK OVER< 

I shuddered that the thought. It's hard to believe it's been almost three years. 

Three years of sleeping around with girls who didn't know I'm gay. Who didn't know I'm in love with someone who would never love me again. Who would never know how torn up I am inside. I sighed again. Well, I guess that's what the booze and pills are for. 

I sat up and looked beside me. Sure enough, the girl from last night was laid there; sound asleep. I studied her face. I was sure I recognized her now that I was sobered up...

Had she hit on me before?

I scrambled out of bed and pulled my pants on. I couldn't find any clean shirts so I walked to my wardrobe and pulled out a few hangers with shirts on. My favourite old checked one caught my eye so I threw it on, then I froze. A familliar scent rolled of the shirt and I couldn't help but recognise it. Then I remembered, Frank was wearing this shirt the day I walked out on him. I hadn't washed it since because I refused to wear it, but something inside of me stopped me from throwing it away. 

I felt myself tearing up, but I stepped on my own foot as I was walking away and landed with a loud thud by the bed, hitting my nose off the floor. Ouch. 

I heard the 'mystery girl' stirring as I sat up, and I looked over the bed to see her sat there, half naked. I diverted my eyes and threw some clothes at her. "Here, put these on," I urged, hoping she didn't do what all of the other girls did and try to get me back into bed whilst I was sober. Well, I wouldn't be sober for long, anyway.

"Okay," she mumbled under her breath, along with something along the lines of "Mr. Sober guy's no fun on a morning." I couldn't help but chuckle to myself.

"Done," she sighed, so I stood and studied my victim from the previous night.

"Hey, don't I know you-" We both questioned eachother at the same time. Then our eyes widened.

"Y-you're the girl from Starbucks? The one that tried to hit on me," I snickered under my breath, turning my head away.

"Yeah, and if I remember correctly, you're gay?"

I nodded my head and she diverted her eyes to the liqour cabinet. She changed the subject. "That's a lota booze!" She exclaimed.

"Yeah."

There was a long silence. A very awkward, long silence.

"I guess I'll be going then," she muttered, before quickly grabbing her shoes and purse and scrambling through the house and to the front door, seeing herself out.

"Thank God for that," I sighed. Time for some booze and breakfast.