Someday The Waves ✔ *Wattys15 Winner*

Chapter Seventeen

I've waited here for you,

Everlong. 

Tonight I throw myself in two, out of the red,

Out of her head she sang.

Everlong - Foo Fighters

. . . 

Friday morning, late August

 As the sunlight sunk into my eyes, willing them to open, I felt a hard, stiffness underneath my back and something rough against my skin. Familiar music faintly played beside me, and the husky voice encouraged me to wake.

Letting the hazy light and view of the backyard filter though my foggy mind, I realised that I wasn't in my bed and under the covers but in fact out on the porch, my legs sprawled by the steps and my head propped up by a folded pair of pants. Ones I assumed I had taken off late into the night, because of the heat.

Falling asleep outside, with only a patchwork blanket to act as a mattress had not been my original intention, but red wine always had other ideas.

The sun had risen to it's highest point, telling me that I'd been out cold for a long while and that my rhyming mantra, to convince me to keep drinking hadn't quite been right.

Beer before wine makes you feel fine,

Wine before beer, makes you feel queer.

Nothing felt fine of course, after the sixth bottle of cheap Mexican beer and half a jug of wine with my dazed head and churning belly acting as the evidence. Agreeing together in a queasy fashion that made me want to roll right over the side of the porch and let them out, all over Poppy's prized rows of marigolds and daisies. Luckily I made it to the bathroom in time, but not before scrapping my shin against the jagged back door. I let the blood spill down.

Zucchini lasagne was not what I had anticipated to see again so soon but there it was, in the toilet bowl along with the 'rhyming combo' that I had been so happy to sink down on the porch, right after Noah had left me alone in the bungalow.

Soon to be alone in Pesmo. I knew it wouldn't be too long before he left for good. Forever.

Last night after I'd agreed to come back to the table at The Allen's, and after Noah lied for me and told Mrs Allen I didn't feel so well, he'd insisted on cycling back with me. Even though I'd managed to keep my emotions in check, and enthuse with Noah about colleges, and applications and hopes for his future, I still only wanted to escape, bolt the door and cut free the anchor that was holding me together.

I wanted to drown my sorrows, literally.

And so I raided the cooler and found a few left over beers, and of course a jug of Poppy's wine, and proceeded out to the yard, to marvel at the stars and drink until they all merged into one giant ball. That's when I forgot to care about having neighbours and dragged out an portable stereo from the garage, throwing around old mix CDS until I found the one that suited my mood: an intoxicating choice of heavy rock and slow, melodic love songs that an ex-boyfriend had so kindly made for me, years before.

The rest of the night was thankfully a blur but the mess of feelings still remained. Maybe I hadn't quite drowned myself enough.

After everything spilled out in an un-godly fashion and after I had cleaned up my cut, the sight of the blood making me want to throw up again, I wrapped myself up in my sheets, closed the bedroom blinds and hoped that my eyes wouldn't wake again until the brilliant, bright sunlight had disappeared.

To sleep until everything was good again.

Drown. Rinse. Repeat.

. . .