gabrielle
queen of angst
It was early in the morning, the heat of the beginning of summer warming the boy who slept on the bench. The breeze was calm, only occasionally blowing his blonde hair even more into his eyes should they be open. There were few clouds in the sky; this gave the sun the chance to beat down onto his pale skin dusted with freckles, giving it the soft beginnings of a sunburn.
The boy looked peaceful should you only pay mind to his expression. His clothes were wrinkled, and he was in an awkward position: an arm underneath his head, one touching the ground as it hung over the bench, legs hanging off the side. It would look as if he had fallen onto the bench and stayed there should his arm serving as a pillow give the hint otherwise.
As his sleeping habits would permit, this young man would not be allowed to continue the rest he would soon find himself needing. Unfortunately, Max was a light sleeper. The distant sound of birds he could tolerate. The sounds of the occasional morning jogger was fine. The traffic? That was what awoke him. The roads were generally empty due to the time, but that didn't mean every vehicle passing by would be as peaceful as his sleep would call for. No, there was always that one inconsiderate asshole that just loves to blow their horn for whatever the hell their shitty reasoning prompted.
Unprepared, the blaring noise awoke him with a start. Panic was quick to have him moving despite being barely awake. He'd rushed to gather himself, and all it'd really accomplished was having him fall to the ground with a thump and a soft grunt. The rocks on the pavement dug into his hands as they'd been stretched out in front of him to catch his short fall.
In a pathetic attempt to get up, he managed to get himself hit on the back of his head courtesy of the bench he hadn't taken into account. With a curse on his lips and a hand to the offended area, he moved to stand. It only took a handful of seconds before he was sliding onto the bench to sit, feeling nausea stir in him.
Taking his hand away from his head, he realized that his hair felt... sticky? Running a hand through it, he could only assume that it looked like it was in just as much disarray as he felt. It was then that he realized that he had no idea where the hell he was nor did he remember anything at all of last night.
Rubbing at his face and leaving his head in his hands with elbows propped on his knees, he tried piecing together the night before. He recalled having a normal, average day, and... what else? Going to a party and drinking a few, but anything past that was a haze. There might've been something along the lines of an argument, a certain someone with a mouth full of threats, and maybe a gun? He didn't know. One thing he was definitely sure of, though, was that he'd left his roommate in a bad mood. Yet he couldn't quite recall why he had been bothered.
This was all very upsetting - not being able to remember. It had questions coming into his mind such as did he do something stupid? Did he hurt someone? Did his roommate, James, hate him now? Did James even know where he was? Where was he, anyways? How in the hell would he get home - no, how did he even get here in the first place?
With a frustrated sigh, Max stopped himself. He was just stressing himself out more and more with each question, and it wasn't helping him in the slightest. Asking things he knew he didn't have the answers to wouldn't prove to do any good. He didn't need the upset that came with that, anyways.
He felt bad enough as is with a headache that was so bad it made him dizzy with quick movement. Not to mention the way his body ached for a reason he couldn't find. His throat felt as if it were burning, his mouth was dry, and he'd bet money on the new stain on his shirt having been caused by vomit. The way he could smell alcohol on himself gave him a good enough hint for that conclusion.
All in all, he was having a terrible morning.
The boy looked peaceful should you only pay mind to his expression. His clothes were wrinkled, and he was in an awkward position: an arm underneath his head, one touching the ground as it hung over the bench, legs hanging off the side. It would look as if he had fallen onto the bench and stayed there should his arm serving as a pillow give the hint otherwise.
As his sleeping habits would permit, this young man would not be allowed to continue the rest he would soon find himself needing. Unfortunately, Max was a light sleeper. The distant sound of birds he could tolerate. The sounds of the occasional morning jogger was fine. The traffic? That was what awoke him. The roads were generally empty due to the time, but that didn't mean every vehicle passing by would be as peaceful as his sleep would call for. No, there was always that one inconsiderate asshole that just loves to blow their horn for whatever the hell their shitty reasoning prompted.
Unprepared, the blaring noise awoke him with a start. Panic was quick to have him moving despite being barely awake. He'd rushed to gather himself, and all it'd really accomplished was having him fall to the ground with a thump and a soft grunt. The rocks on the pavement dug into his hands as they'd been stretched out in front of him to catch his short fall.
In a pathetic attempt to get up, he managed to get himself hit on the back of his head courtesy of the bench he hadn't taken into account. With a curse on his lips and a hand to the offended area, he moved to stand. It only took a handful of seconds before he was sliding onto the bench to sit, feeling nausea stir in him.
Taking his hand away from his head, he realized that his hair felt... sticky? Running a hand through it, he could only assume that it looked like it was in just as much disarray as he felt. It was then that he realized that he had no idea where the hell he was nor did he remember anything at all of last night.
Rubbing at his face and leaving his head in his hands with elbows propped on his knees, he tried piecing together the night before. He recalled having a normal, average day, and... what else? Going to a party and drinking a few, but anything past that was a haze. There might've been something along the lines of an argument, a certain someone with a mouth full of threats, and maybe a gun? He didn't know. One thing he was definitely sure of, though, was that he'd left his roommate in a bad mood. Yet he couldn't quite recall why he had been bothered.
This was all very upsetting - not being able to remember. It had questions coming into his mind such as did he do something stupid? Did he hurt someone? Did his roommate, James, hate him now? Did James even know where he was? Where was he, anyways? How in the hell would he get home - no, how did he even get here in the first place?
With a frustrated sigh, Max stopped himself. He was just stressing himself out more and more with each question, and it wasn't helping him in the slightest. Asking things he knew he didn't have the answers to wouldn't prove to do any good. He didn't need the upset that came with that, anyways.
He felt bad enough as is with a headache that was so bad it made him dizzy with quick movement. Not to mention the way his body ached for a reason he couldn't find. His throat felt as if it were burning, his mouth was dry, and he'd bet money on the new stain on his shirt having been caused by vomit. The way he could smell alcohol on himself gave him a good enough hint for that conclusion.
All in all, he was having a terrible morning.
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