Demons x Malum

seven •

sunday, feburary 8, 2015

seven •

the moment the sunlight hits my sleeping eye, at just the moment a bird decides to swing into the glass of my window – I'm up in a millisecond.

I sit, rubbing my eyes, and try to ignore the subtle thump in my brain. I've dealt with such a situation before, for my girlfriend last year always hosted the sickest parties. I could never remember most of these so called events, but my acquaintances always made it their business to tell me what I did or didn't do.

my steps through my bedroom, and to the bathroom are slow, steady, and filled with groans. every step on the floor brings another shock of pain to my head which continuously throbs to the beat of my heart. movements turn sluggish, vision blurs with the amount of dizziness new light brings, and I'm surprised I'm able to grab medicine and a cup of water.

"calum!" mali's voice rings through the house at the sound of a bullhorn, almost knocking me down as the pain shoots through my being. doesn't she know never to yell at a person who happens to be struggling with a hangover?

"what?" i yell back, clutching my head, and gulping glass after glass of water. the pills need to dissolve faster, so this headache will disappear into just another highschool memory.

"come clean this house now." I take the stair two at a time, scratching my shirtless stomach sleepily, almost stepping on a just awakening peer.

mali taps on shoulders, and violently shakes the bodies of those who don't wake at her first attempt. I grab a garbage bag, rushing around the house to pick up trash, so the time between my return to my sheets and pillows becomes less.

after a good hour spent vacuuming, mopping, scrubbing, and rearranging: the house looks fit for a king – of very low standards, and empty pockets. mali runs around the house lighting each and every candle insight to diminish the smell of smoke, alcohol, and sex.

"you know what we should do," I say, stopping both of our movements. "just bake cookies, or some shït and just burn them. like the burn smell with linger for a while, and it definitely will burn out the smell of party."

mali ponders the idea, tilting her head to the side, brown eyes that mimic my own rotate around the room, until she finally nods in agreement.

"for someone with the common sense of a frog," she laughs, ruffling my thick brown hair as she passes me. "you're pretty smart."

"you dick." my insult comes out sarcastically, a result of her snickering. the house never seems to fall silent, for mali begins to play one direction much to loud for my hungover state. I cringe away from the booming speaker, quickly walking back up to my bedroom, hoping mali can handle such a simple task.

I rush around my room, closing curtains, and locking my door so no more interruptions can bother me in my time of sleeping.

until I remember the part of the night where michael sauntered into the bathroom with tears in his eyes, then I dropped him off at home after a much needed donut run – that's all I remember before I came back and got completely wasted with the help of joey, and luke.

me: so uhm, if you don't mind me asking... what happened yesterday with the crying and stuff?

michael: nothing.

me: oh okay...

me: wanna grab lunch or something?

michael: sunday's are my suicide days.

me: I don't know why they always seem so dismal ??

me: can't tell if your tøp af, or if your being serious ...

michael: I'll talk to you later, calum.

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