Addiction/Affliction {M.Healy}

{two}

Hey everyone! Here's the next part. Sorry if there are weird mistakes. I am super tired. Also, I cannot stop watching this gif of Matty. Like, someone tell him he has to stop.

The sounds of Prince's "Little Red Corvette" blared in my room, waking me from my lucid, lovely state of sleep on a Sunday morning. This was no doubt the doings of my roommate, cousin, and alleged best friend. I groaned, kicking my legs and wailing my arms in a mini-tantrum, totally distraught that I'd been unable to sleep in.

Because of my new neighbor (whom I had not yet had the displeasure of meeting), I'd only had about five hours of sleep. The hours of midnight to almost two were spent tossing and turning in my bed, in an unsuccessful attempt to ignore the banging and moaning from the oppsoite wall. The antics died down for a while, and I had a small moment of peace, but at about three they were back at it again, and I was almost positive there was more than one female enjoying herself in my new neighbor's flat.

I untangled myself from my sheets, my blue eyes dancing lazily around my bedroom, the one that Hannah had helped me decorate six months ago when we'd moved in. The walls were a cramy white, accented by some cute things I had picked up. A gold and coral chevron tapestry hung above my all-white bed, my dozen and a half pillows in different textures but all white. A set of paper flowers in frames adorned the opposite wall, and my simple white antique furtniture and desk stood cofident and where they were placed.

Ugh.

I was still so tired.

After making my bed, I continued muttering four-letter words to myself as I made my way into the kithchen. Damn neighbors. Damn Hannah.

The weekends were MY days. Monday through Friday, I was a polished, pristine professional. Neat blouses and expensive skirts, flawless make-up and hair, determination and strength in my professional aspects twice that of my seniored partners. But Saturdays and Sundays, I was a hungover mess in an old T-shirt, panties, and fuzzy socks. No one was going to take that away from me, not even Hannah, as she was chomping on brightly-colored cereal she'd filled my Kitchen-Aid bowl with, mouthing the words to Prince.

"Damnit, Hannah," I groaned, shoving a K-Cup into my Keurig. "It's Sunday."

Hannah rolled her eyes and paused the Prince on her phone, spooning another mouthful of cereal. "It's fucking half-ten."

She had a point.

The coffee slowly poured into my mug, teasing me with the thin drizzle. My day was blank; I had no plans. I relished in this.

"I might go for a run," I sighed to Hannah. "It's so lovely outside. Would you like to join me?"

Hannah's face went flat. "Not unless there's a naked Kit Harrington at the finish line and a million dollars wrapped in a pretty little bow."

My hands grabbed the mug and I dumped in an unholy amount of caramel coffee creamer. "If only."

Hannah was dressed in a white and yellow polka-dot jumper, with matching yellow pajama pants. I was in an oversized white T and granny panties that she was now not-so-silently judging.

"What the fuck are those?" she asked in disgust.

The chair of our kitchen table screached across the white tile as I pulled it out.

"Panties," I shrugged.

Hannah scoffed, in absolute horror, as she lifted the hem of my shirt. "How far do these go up? Oh my God. This! This is why you're single."

I swatted her hand away and sat firmly into the chair across the table. "You're so rude."

She shrugged, mouthing some more of cereal. "Did you borrow those from Granny Frances?"