Straight Boys

Straight to The Point

Andrew's POV

"Ugh..." My head was going to explode. I was positive it was going to detonate at any moment by the constant throbbing in my temples. The sunlight shining through my opened curtains wasn't helping, in the least bit, nor the uncomfortable rumbling in my stomach.

How did I get home?

Did I drive drunk last night?

How much did I drink?

Can I kill myself before my headache does it for me?

Why can't I remember anything after the game?

I grumbled incoherent sentences as I painfully sat up, my head hurting even more with the new height and position. Rubbing at my face to get the tired out of me, I peeped at my alarm clock to see what time it was. That's when I saw the two, reddish pills sitting happily on my night stand.

Did I put those there? If I had, then props to me for thinking of the after math of partying to forget.

Taking the small pills into my hand, I shot them into my mouth and unscrewed the water bottle to gulp down a much needed drink that wasn't alcohol. The cool-ish water soothed my stinging throat, but it did not help my stomach. My eyes widened as I scrambled to get the bathroom across the hall.

I drank that water too fast, I inwardly chastised, as I hurled into my toilet last night's intake. It was all clear liquid, and also the pain killers, but hurt like a bitch freeing itself. I definitely wanted to stab myself in the stomach, the pain most likely to soothe the hurricane brewing within me, rather than kill me. That's how much regret I had in trying to drink away my pain.

No, stop thinking like that. They're going to be fine.

Ruffling my bed head as if to ruffle the irritating thoughts out of my mind, I pushed myself up to stand. My posture may have been horrible, but at least I wasn't face deep in my own puke. Disgusting. Flushing the contents of my stomach, I gladly walked out of the bathroom, not before downing two more pills.

Although I had been through a number of hangovers, this one was the worst. I don't think I had ever drank so much liver poison in my life before. This was bad, because I felt like I had been hit by a plane. My headache was slowly easing up on me, fortunately, but my stomach was another story; I felt like I needed to throw up again, but couldn't, and unlike all the other times where I could have forcefully throated down a piece of toast, the simple thought of one had me gagging. I would not eat another bite of food for as long as I could, that's how sick I felt from one party. It was bad.

The smell of bacon and coffee from down stairs had the gears in my head cranking and turning, though. My dad should have been at the hospital with Lola and mom, but instead he was cooking breakfast? He never cooked breakfast, only my mother did. So, that little thought led me to grab an umbrella and stealthily creep down the wooden stairs. Nobody should have been home, not my dad, and definitely not any other family. And the possibility of some girl from last night being here was impossible because I had my clothes on and I never brought a girl home. Never. My flings were strictly done at parties, not my own bed. So who could it have been? I had no recollection of meeting anyone at the party that would have come home with me. Who the Hell was it?

When my legs got me close enough to the kitchen, I started to hear pans banging together and the distinct sizzle of bacon. I still didn't want to even think about food, so I had to restrain myself from throwing up again then and there.