…

I come to in my bed. The world is dark and swirly and boy am I feeling woozy right now. I slump back into my bed.

I look up. The clock looks blurry. It takes a second for my vision to focus. It is 10 am. Fuck, I have somewhere to be in a few hours. Where is Lizzie?

I turn my head, which brings a set of headaches that has me blinking, trying to clutch my forehead, but nothing happens. My arm feels dead, but then I move it, and it works. I get one foot off the bed, and then I retch onto the floor. Spaghetti and tomato sauce, mixed with an acidic smell so sharp I want to vomit again. I fall back onto my bed.

I blink at the lights. I’m still in my room. I turn my head. It is 11 am. I am in bed, but I need to get ready.

Somehow, I am in the shower now. The water is running. I look at the clock—11:15, and I realise things are getting patchy. My left arm stings something crazy, and I can see a thick dark line running down it. It looks like a skid mark run through a food processor.

I towel off. There is puke on the ground. I vaguely remember that. I grab some paper towels and do my best to clean the mess up. I smell myself. I think I smell okay.

I put on my regular clothes. Slow, steady breaths help me get through the physical exertion. My arm is ginger, it hurts where the cotton rubs against my skin. I need to endure.

I look into the mirror for what I think is the first time today. Fuck.

My face is a swollen, bruised, black and red mess. My nose looks crooked, but maybe the dark blotches around my eyes are stopping me from seeing clearly. I look like I went ten rounds against Muhammad Ali. Fuck it. My left arm pulls up the hood on my jacket, and I take a few steps back, and almost fall from the sudden wooziness.

I need to go outside.

I go outside, backpack slung over my left shoulder.

“Got a beer for me today?” Jericho calls out from the lot. I walk towards him, taking small steps. “You know, it’s fucking hot today too, and I betcha… Ah shit man, who fucked ya up? Want me to fuck ‘em back?”

I smile back at him, though really I’m just tired and need to rest. I take a seat on the pavement next to him. Several seconds pass. I let out a breath, the whoosh coming out deep, and I notice the thinner pain in my chest. Arm’s still killing me, and I don’t like the way my face feels swollen.

“Couldn’t be assed to lug some beer over today,” I say. The bite in my tone puts a frown on Jerico’s face. I reach into my pocket and lay my phone on the ground.

He looks down at it. Jericho’s mouth is drawn into a line now. He nods.