I wake up the next morning with one of those hangover. The kind that I haven't had since I was back in university. My head is absolutely pounding and the morning sun is burning my eyes. Oh. My. God. What the hell was I drinking last night?!
I reach over to my bedside table, looking for my phone. But, shocker, it's not there. I sigh and force myself to sit up, groaning with the strain my dehydrated body is struggling with. As I peer around, I see the destruction my night left me with. My clothes are sprawled all over the floor, a little trail leading out of the door from what I can only imagine as my attempt of undressing on my way into the room.
And in the little pile near my socks, I see my phone. Undamaged, thankfully, but still so far away from where I am currently. I drag my sorry arse out of bed, and crawl over to it, wincing at the intensity of the background light as I unlock it. One new message:
Meet me at our café. We need to talk.
Oh fuck. Mark. What have I done now?
Dude. I'm hungover. I'm in no mood for anything stressful today.
Fine. I'll come to you.
That's not what I meant!
Tough shit. I'll give you an hour. Be ready.
Dickhead.
Bite me.
I laugh, groaning at the pain that courses through my brain. Despite everything that happened between me and Glen, Mark is still my best friend. I turn to him if I need anything and a couple of times a year, we find the time to meet up. We go to the same café, order the same thing, and just talk about life. Away from all the pressures of the media and the outside world. It's nice. It grounds me when I'm going off on one.
I pull myself out of my thoughts and go for a shower. I can still taste the vodka on my breath and the sweat in my hair. I can't meet anyone in this state.Not even Mark...
While I'm stood in the shower, I think back on the night I just had. I really dodged a bullet there. I could have spiralled right into the mistakes that I've made in the past. I'm not a girl any more. I need to stop doing these kinds of things. I need to grow up and sort my life out. I need...
I hear a knock at the door. Oh fuck, I've done it again!
I rush about the bathroom, trying to dry off and get dressed at the same time. I stumble out the door, hopping through the flat trying to shove a sock on my still damp foot. The knocking gets louder and I groan.
“Coming!” I shout. “Jesus, calm down!”
I throw the front door open and see Mark. He has a massive grin on his face, the one that I've wanted to wipe away so many times. Today is not an exception.
“Have some fucking patience, man!” I say as I hold the door open for him. “You give a hungover woman an hour to get ready, that's fine. But I'm not your average woman. I shouldn't even be awake right now!”
“Stop bitching,” he laughs, walking in and settling himself down on my sofa.
“Make yourself at home,” I mutter sarcastically.
“Oh, I will, don't worry. And while you're at it, I'll have a cuppa.”
“You always ask for a cup of tea, and every time I have to remind you that I don't have tea. I don't like the ruddy stuff.”
“Oh, that's alright. I brought my own.” He brandishes a box of Tetley's along with that shit-eating grin again. “I bought it just for you.”
