Procrastinators on Stage (Chris Kendall/crabstickz fanfic) *unedited*

Part 8- I Don't Like Cold Pizza

I was the first person awake, and all of that awkwardness of waking up early at a sleepover as a child was multiplied when I remembered that I was in a room with fourteen other people.

Some people were snoring, others making snuffling noises as they rolled over or dreamed of worlds within worlds. I was lying between Lucy and Carrie on one of the multiple makeshift mattresses that had been constructed from sofa cushions, pillows, and bedding. My back was slightly arched in comparison to the rest of me due to the overstuffed pillow that I was lying on. This had been one of the worst night’s sleeps I’d had in a very long time.

I think the last person to fall asleep was me, actually. I didn’t know these people very well, which only made me more nervous about sleeping in their company. One of them could be an axe murdered for fuck’s sake! Then again, I don’t think axe murderers would participate in ‘High School Musical Sing It!’ until two o’clock in the morning…

Lucy sighed from my right, making my flinch slightly as she rolled over to face me, her eyes still closed and her breaths deep. I swallowed as I turned my head back round so that I was staring up at the ceiling, the sound of my head against the pillow amplified in my ears. I looked up at the glow in the dark stars that had been stuck up above me, which were now dull in the light filled room.

Today, I needed to go back to my flat and practise for my audition tomorrow. I had to deliver a piece of prose and sing to the theatre show’s director, the singing tutor and likely some other people as well. Not to mention that I’d be put up against other actresses with more experience, skill and with actual agents.

I had Carrie and a written notice from past theatre productions, plays and pantomimes I’d been in, but that was it. I had singing exam certificates and an A-Level in Theatre Studies. If all else failed, I could watch the successful theatre actors and actresses galloping around on stage with Carrie, whilst I painted and constructed the sets that they’d preform on. Lucky me.

After much debate on my behalf, I decided that I should get up and dressed. I had to get out of this onesie.

Praying that no one would stir and ask me what I was doing, I peeled back my sleeping bag and unwound my limbs from it, taking care not to kick PJ’s head, as he was sleeping close to where my feet had been. Once I was on my feet, I tiptoed around the edge of the room in the hope of just walking against the walls rather than stepping on unsuspecting fingers.

I crept past Dan and Mia, who had their hands linked together, despite them sleeping in separate sleeping bags. The sight of seeing a happy couple made me feel physically sick, so I had to hurry into the kitchen to where our bags were being stored, as quickly as possible.

I hated happy couples, quite simply. A psychiatrist might say that it was something to do with my own dwindling success in the relationship department, or how every relationship I saw in real life made me think of how much better relationships were in books. And yet, I just told myself that public displays of affection weren’t to my taste.

The kitchen was small, smaller than Chris’ kitchen, but it still appeared to have all of the necessities inside it. The room had cabinets and units running around the edge of the room with wooden doors to conceal anything and everything. The fridge, however, had double doors and was a dark grey colour.

Good to know where Mia and Dan stand with their priorities of food, I thought as I went in search of some form of food.

There was some left over pizza which I ate cold. Seeing as I’d eaten pizza for dinner two nights in a row, and now I was eating it for breakfast, I was a little fed up of pizza, which was something I wouldn’t readily admit. The food tasted plain in my mouth, and it had the texture of what I’d presume cardboard to be like to chew; dull and stiff.