For a brief, blissful moment as I lie in bed, I truly believe the mattress to be my own. I squeeze my eyelids in an attempt to bring sleep back to my body, but the light which burns through them is just too loud to be ignored. Begrudgingly I allow the muscles on my face to relax and the room comes into sight through a blurry crack and it doesn't take long to realize that the chipped red paint n the wall which is inches from my face is far from the sky blue wallpaper of my own room.
I turn over to assess the situation further, and find a hulking mass in the shape of my friend Lewis's back. For the briefest moment my mind goes to that place where ones mind always go when they find someone lying next to them in bed: did I? I allow myself a laugh: I wasn't that drunk last night. And I doubt that he was either. The memories of the previous night come screeching back: the surprise party, Gordon Brown, watching Pam dance, the fights, the taxi. No, two beers and a glass of champagne are definitely not enough to drive me to homosexuality for a night.
I run my tongue over my teeth, tasting that horrible residue left in my mouth which comes from from drinking and neglecting to brush my teeth before bed. Deciding that I need the toilet, I find my watch and get up, trying not to disturb Lewis, leaving the room through the door which creaks so loudly it feels almost comical, and turning right: into the bathroom. Locking the door behind me I consult my watch which reads 9:28. There is a bus in ten minutes.
As I maneuver myself over the toilet, which requires a one hand to hold open the lid, I consider my options: 1) Get this bus. It is still relatively early and I do remember thinking before I went to sleep that I would have been better served just going home, and home does sound like a welcoming prospect, especially upon glancing at my disheveled person in the bathroom mirror, but the others haven't yet surfaced, and I hate to just slip out. 2) I get the next bus. This seems the most likely option, it gives me proper time to get myself together and maybe even allow me a trip to the co-op across the road for a fresh croissant and some milk. Lewis might even be up in time and I wouldn't have to get the bus in my own, even though we'll probably just plug our music the minute we sit down. 3) Spend the day here. I like Fred, obviously, else I doubt I'd be waking up in his brothers bed (he is away at university), and the idea of spending the day with him, Duncan and Lewis does sound welcoming, probably watching some bad movies, going out for a game of football up at the park just like we do every time we come. Tempting, though I don't think I can be all that bothered, especially as I stayed at Duncan's until about two o'clock in the afternoon yesterday following a night on the lash for Jessica's eighteenth.
I return to the bedroom and look at the pile of stuff I left on the chair after taking it off last night. I could still make the bus in five minutes, a bit of a rush, but doable. My eyes find Lewis sprawled out, snuffling in his sleep and I decide to resign myself to the fact I cannot be bothered leaving just yet.
I crawl back into bed and switch in my phone to browse Twitter and Facebook and see if Pam text me back. After about ten minutes of unfulfilling skimming, learning nothing, my phone vibrates and I see the words message flash across the top ending with a stream of kisses. Opening it, I see it is short and makes little sense. Pam's words are joined and confused and I struggle to make out what she has written. I didn't realize she was that drunk last night, but then I barely spoke to her. I tend to leave her to it when we're at big parties, my shy disposition doesn't really suit for such an environment and I hate trying to communicate with people over numbingly loud music in any other way than dance. I reply with what I think is the correct response, though it is difficult to know due to the ambiguous nature of her question.
9:48. The bus has passed and I am still here, in this bed, with Lewis. I wonder if the others are up next door, but then I remember that these are the people who can quite easily confine themselves to bed until well after lunchtime. I shut my eyes and search for the sand man once more, though succeed in only half-sleep, unable to shake the sickly feeling that today will be a bleak one.
No comments:
Post a Comment