Page 28 of The Last Person
I wonder what it tastes like.
“Why are you licking your lips? No drooling in my bed,” Brian huffs as he falls onto the mattress next to me.
“Not. Gonna.”
“Mhm. Sleep.”
“That.” I slap him on the back. “Night.”
He grunts at me, and I rest my head against the pillow and close my eyes.
I instantly fall into a dreamlike state, and I drift off to sleep lost in my delusional fantasies of what it would be like to kiss Brian.
CHAPTER TEN
BRIAN
I’m hangingon the precipice of death.
I know I’m not actually dead because there wouldn’t be this kind of pain and suffering. Even the devil isn’t this cruel.
My head weighs 3,427 pounds and is full of bees and pain.
If my limbs are still attached to my body, they don’t work. So that’ll make running down a football field and tackling people fun. Maybe they can hook me up to strings like a marionette.
Clearly, my brain isn’t doing well either, but that’s probably because I drowned it in alcohol last night. I could’ve stayed in and crocheted while Hardy binged moreDawson’s Creek.
But, no. I had to encourage going out and celebrating and him hooking up with a random girl.
It’s fine.
I’m fine.
We’re all fine here.
And by we, I mean the separate parts of my body that I’m convinced are scattered around the room.
Like Luke Skywalker attempting to use the force to lift his ship while doing a handstand and balancing Yoda, I try to get all the parts of my body to reunite because as pathetic as I am this morning, I will not be piss-the-bed pathetic.
I can do this.
Open eyes.
Eyes open.
Eyelids, I command you. Open.
Slowly something happens. Light filters in, and I hate it immediately, but there’s no going back now.
Blinking, my vision finally clears, and I lift my head.
Mistake, but I don’t have another option.
Okay, time to make the rest of my body work. My arms get their shit together first, and I crawl out of bed, waiting for my legs to catch up. By the time I get to the bathroom, I’m somewhere between squatting and hobbling, but I manage to stand straight up for long enough to pee and wash my hands.
The walls are my friend as I make my way back out to my room.
Hardy’s gone. Assuming he slept in here last night and it wasn’t a figment of my imagination.
