15 | Heavyweight
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When I open my eyes the ache pounding in my head almost immediately forces me back down.
An involuntary groan escapes my mouth, my fingers pushing themselves down hard into the mattress. Too many limbs are aching, my brain feels like it's melting, the stream of light from the window might as well be a death sentence.
Jesus fucking christ.
It takes a second for the reason for all this to come flooding back, for me to realise that I'm severely hungover. My hair feels tangled and almost squashed together, rouge strands falling over my forehead. I wipe them away, trying to ignore the incessant throbbing headache.
Piecing together last night doesn't seem to work.
I'm usually bad at remembering things when I drink in general, but this is a new level.
The night has been wiped from my memory entirely.
There are glimpses of the bar, my friends, being outside briefly?
But that's it, nothing more than those fragmented details. I don't even remember getting home.
How did I get home?
I'm not sure how many minutes I spend lying flat on my stomach, forcing my body to adjust to the spliced sunlight and waiting hours of the day. Time passes harder than it should, almost violently. I'm scared to look at the time when I grab my phone off the nightstand.
Did I put it there? I think as hard as I can without physically making my brain hurt more than it already does but, no, nothing. I must've, the same way my bag and shoes are neatly left on the floor nearby.
The blue light fights to hurt my eyes even more than the natural light, my eyes winced as I scroll through the slew of notifications.
I have a million texts from Riley, all of which are frantic.
The oldest from the night before are completely scattered with drunk typos.
But there are newer ones too, legible this time.
They're all... apologising for something?
I can't make out the focus of the messages, what she's sorry for, how that affects me. I'm immediately burdened with the realisation I'm going to have to try and dig deeper for something from last night. Anything at all.
I audibly exhale when my useless brain draws a blank, again.
What the hell did she do?
I guess I'm going to have to go over there and see her, ask her directly what any of this is about. What I did last night, nothing too mortifying I hope. The only thing that doesn't make me feel even more terrible is the fact that it's Saturday, the only day other than Thursday I don't work.
Attempting to drag myself into work like this would be a nightmare.
I suddenly realise something, a little more awake and conscious apparently. I'm still wearing my clothes from last night. Weirdly, they've been covered with an old over-sized t-shirt, at least making it a bit more comfortable to sleep in.
It makes me wonder, again, how I ended up here. Riley would've helped me get changed, surely? Did I really drag myself to bed and pull this on myself? The idea of me stumbling around my room like that makes my cheeks bloom with hungover embarrassment.
I go back to my notifications, noting a few missed calls from Riley too earlier in the night. When I scroll too far back I'm hit with three glaring words. No Caller ID. It makes me feel sick, plunges me back into the reason I feel this shit in the first place.
I can barely deal with my own brain function right now, there's no way I'm thinking about anything else.
I manage to drag myself to the shower, warm water washing away the grogginess of sleep, spilling remaining makeup down my cheeks. Goosebumps trickle down my arms as I warm up, lulling me into a safer sense of security. I feel better, not good, but definitely not like I'm on my deathbed anymore.
Once out the shower I get ready, pulling on comfy clothes with no regard for anything but easing the hangover pain as much as I possibly can. I ignore the tiredness bleeding through my eyes and brush away that faint taste of sick in my mouth.
Once I get to Riley's I've got some momentum going, a sort of rhythm that tricks my body into feeling better than it is. Walking helps so I move from foot to foot as I wait on her doorstep, opting for the front entrance. She'll know it's me, I don't feel like running into her parents right now.
As soon as the door is open Riley's arms are around me, pulling my body into a suffocating hug. It's familiar and comfortable, almost warm in a strange way. I melt into it, realising I really, really needed this.
I actually feel weirdly empty when she pulls away.
"I'm never letting you out of my sight ever again," She garbles, placing her hands on either side of my cheeks.
I frown, scrunching my brows. I should say something but I only now realise words haven't formed since I woke up. I'm running a lot slower than usual.
Riley just tilts her head knowingly, "Shit, you don't remember anything do you?"
I shake my head, her hands on my face moving with it. She drops them, ushering me inside slowly and shutting the door behind us.
I clear my throat, "Why are you sorry?"
"I have a better question," She counters, sitting on the couch and pulling me down beside her, "Why the fuck did you drink so much?"
No. Not that.
I can't do those thoughts right now. I see a flash of that red car, the sound of my dad's lingering voice, some distorted memory of the past. Fuck that, fuck him, fuck all of that.
"I don't know," I mumble, "I just... went overboard."
"A bit more than overboard!" She says, voice loud but only with affection. She's not mad, she's just trying to understand me, "It's so unlike you to do that, Ava. Is everything okay?"
I glance into her eyes, a little hazel but mostly brown, nowhere near her brothers. Her hand is threaded in mine, squeezing gently, grounding me almost. It's a small comfort but it is helping, makes me feel a bit better.
It hurts to not tell her truth, but it would hurt even more to explain that twisting, convoluted mess. If she cares this much without knowing a thing, knowing everything would be too big a burden.
"Is it about your mom...?" She breathes, a gentle quality to her voice, "Or your work? Or the photos? Was that too much for you, did I-"
"No, no, Riley, I'm fine," I say dismissively, "It's nothing. Life has been a lot recently, it just caught up to me a bit. I should've been more responsible."
She squeezes my hand tighter, faint smile on her lips. I flash her one back and I hope she knows it's real. Our friendship, all of this, is important to me, even if that means cutting away parts of my life that need to be hidden away.
"You know you can tell me anything, right? I love you, seriously."
I nod back, leaning into her a little so we're hugging from the side.
I let the words sit for a moment, a slow silence forming around us. It lets my thoughts drift back to the centre of my mind. I still can't remember anything, I don't know why Riley was apologising, how I ended up in my own bed.
"How did I get home?" I ask, glancing at her.
There's a faint look on her face, a little glimmer of something close to relief.
"My brother... he drove you home."
I almost think I didn't hear her correctly. I hope I didn't.
Nolan was in my house? In my room?
It doesn't make any sense, even more scattered confusion thrumming through my body.
"Wait, what?" I scramble, thoughts derailing.
"He was at the bar, with a date," She mumbles, "He found you wasted and did the right thing for once."
He was at the bar?
Somehow, this information, as strange as it is to process, does push somethingforward in my head. I can sketch out an almost clear photo, a very foggy memory trapped behind layers of alcohol.
Nolan, looking at me from across the room. But it's his eyes I really remember, the weight of them glued to me. It's like my brain only captured the sensation of the moment. The picture itself is fuzzy.
"He- why?" Is all I manage to communicate, this wave of confusion not helping with my headache.
I can't actually believe he took me home. I mean, I'm glad he did I guess, seeing as I woke up in one semi-okay piece. But I could've done anything, said anything. What if said shit I shouldn't have? Blurted about my dad or the things I keep locked in my head?
He shouldn't have been able to see me like that, vulnerable.He never has. My brain spins with his words. He said he wouldn't stop trying to do the right thing but why does that keep coinciding with being around me?
Like ink spilt on paper the pit of regret in my stomach is quickly growing.
"I was apologising for leaving you alone," Riley's voice explains, dragging me out my mind, "Something happened and I made a mistake. You shouldn't have been in a position where Nolan had to find you. I should've noticed how drunk you were, I'm sorry."
I blink, the memory still not finding its way back. Maybe I should be annoyed but in my own head it may as well not have happened. Either way, she clearly feels bad, her apology alone making me want to automatically forgive her.
"What happened?" I ask, brushing over the rest.
Her face scrunches a little, releasing a deep breath. The air shifts, heavier.
"Cole got in a fight... he's in hospital."
A fight?
It's a lot of information to process, especially with a burning hangover. Now the worry on Riley's face makes sense, the slither of hurt. I know what she's thinking, what regrets she has. This isn't just about leaving me, it's about her own reaction.
She thinks it's her fault, for not stepping in sooner. That if we'd spoken to Cole before things got to this point, everything could've been avoided. The fact that she's even thinking down that route makes my heart ache. She always carries the burden of things out of her control.
But, worse than that, it reminds her of her brother. The years where no one stopped him, let his life spiral out of control until everything around her collapsed. Cole is nowhere near the same as Nolan but the parallels are eating away at her, I can see in her face.
"I don't even know how it started, what it was about..." She blinks, "He's okay, but he was knocked out pretty hard, has a concussion. He'll be discharged in a day or two..."
This time I squeeze her hand, meeting her eyes.
"Hey," I say softly, "It's okay, you said yourself he'll be fine. You couldn't have known that was going to happen."
She shrugs but it's not casual, her face teetering on the edge of tears. It's a sense of overwhelm, a pattern she's seen too many times staring her in the face.
"But we could've stopped it..." Her breath is audible now, a little shaky, "If kept him by our side the whole night or- or told him to stop drinking before all this shit-"
"Riley," I urge, but she ignores me
"He wasn't thinking, you could see it in his eyes... he was so distant, not himself," She bites back a quiver, "That wasn't him, not in that moment."
She's describing it like it's alien but I'veseen that look before. The exact same way she has.
Cold, clouded but softened at the edges, swirling with all the elements of a person you can't decipher. It's raw and intense and static all at the same time. It almost makes you feel sick.
It makes you think they're a completely differentversion of themself.
I've seen it in Nolan.
I've seen it in my dad.
But this isn't about me, it's about making sure my best friend doesn't go back to a time when she was suffocating under the weight of the people around her. So I run my finger across her hand gently, smoothing the skin before reducing my voice to a careful whisper.
"Cole is struggling, struggling people won't change just because you tell them too," I take a breath, "He made a mistake, now all we can do is let him know that we're here for him, that we can help him through this."
"But what if...?" Her quiet voice squeaks back, "If we can't help him? If it's like before?"
"It's not the same," I say, strongly, "And that's not your responsibility, not with Cole, not with anyone. You don't have to fix people, Riley, that's not your job."
She's quiet but I know she's listening, dissecting my words.
"Cole is still in there, he'll come around eventually. He has us, people like you who care way, waytoo much," She laughs softly, despite the water in her eyes barely drying up, "And you have me, to stop you worrying so much."
She looks at me, that familiar smile snaking its way back across her cheeks, "Thank you."
Before I can respond I'm pulled into another suffocating hug. Her arms wrap around me, tight and comforting. Something still twisting in my gut relaxes.
She might not know it but this is helping me too, easing the other crushing things going on in my head.
The things I'm going to have to stop avoiding.
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