a day

The movie ends. The strains of Arcade Fire lull her back to the reality of her darkened room. The credits roll as a wave of nausea rises up her throat. She ignores it and sets her alarm for 10AM the next morning. Shouldn’t be that hard to get up early. She pulls the covers up and fights to get to sleep. It’s 4AM.

 

~

 

The alarm rings. 10:15AM.

 

Snooze.

Snooze.

Snooze.

 

~

 

1:30PM. She opens her eyes. 15 missed calls, 5 voicemails. The blinds shut out most of the afternoon sun, but the heat is unbearable. Her head throbs and her throat feels like the Sahara. There is a layer of sticky humidity on her skin, suffocating and prickling at the edges of her consciousness. She runs a finger down the side of her neck, rolls out of bed, and pads into the shower. 17 missed calls, 11 voicemails.

 

She flips the faucet to ‘cold’ and stands in the spray. The freezing droplets shock her mind and body, and a shiver skims across her skin. She tilts her head skywards, letting the water flow down her throat. She soaps up, once, twice, three times. Someone’s voice bounces off the tiles, singing about burning rooms in repair and being perfectly lonely.

 

~

 

3PM. She slides into a velvety grey T-shirt and indigo skinny jeans. The kitchen counter is covered in dried up liquor. She sticks leftovers into the microwave and watches Keeping Up With The Kardashians as she eats out of the Tupperware. She tries not to blink.

 

Her phone buzzes. Shit. “Hey, Nate,” she chirps.

 

“Sara! You little shit. Where are you? You were supposed to be here at eleven.” the voice buzzes through the earpiece.

 

“Well, you know, last night was crazy, you should’ve been there!” She giggles. (Lies.)

 

Nate’s not having any of it. “Come down now, you might still make it,”

 

“There’s no point, I’m probably gonna take forever! Traffic sucks at the time of day, and you know I don’t have anything to wear,” A crease appears between her eyebrows and she runs a finger along the ridge of her ear.

 

“I’m coming to get you. Get dressed, I’ll call when I’m near.” The call clicks off. She’s left alone in her room with –

 

Ugh. Nate’s a childhood friend. Responsible, logical and a little bit of a control freak, Sara’s parents were ever so grateful their free-spirited daughter had someone looking out for her once she hit adulthood and moved out. Nate kept track of all her family events, reminding her to call home every once in a while, keeping track of birthdays, and reassuring her parents that Sara was, in fact, still alive. So it was a surprise, or more of a shock, really, when Nate called last night and –
I have nothing to wear. She stared at her wardrobe and tries not to blink. Almost everything was black, white, or grey, with the exception of denim and an old Army jacket she nicked from her dad when she moved. Would it be rude to wear it? Her phone buzzed. She contemplated not picking up.

 

Nate’s voice was resigned. “I got you a dress since you don’t have anything to wear. I’m coming up now. Wear a tee or something, I’ve seen you naked more than enough.” She sighed.

 

~

 

Half an hour later saw them both in the car. Nate frowned at her dark lipstick and refusal to brush her hair. Sara frowned at his pressed suit and silver cufflinks. Her fingers tugged at the camouflage in her lap. Funerals are never easy.

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Published by

quirkyteal

writer/stylist/dreamer sophomore | lasalle college of the arts

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