He understood why. He honestly completely did. If he had been that fucked up, he would have wanted her to leave like she had wanted him to. But that still didn't make him happy about it. He had worried the whole night, even his dreams and sleep had been restless and full of anxiety. Even waking up to her text hadn't made him feel better. In fact, he felt worse, because he really thought he should have been the one to help her home, not his new friends who had helped her instead. He was deeply upset by all this, but he wouldn't tell her ever, unless she got him drunk again, and he almost didn't want to do that either.
He sighed and grabbed a bottle of water from the floor, staring at the mess of his table and the boxes and bags scattered round the room. His hand clenched in a fist and he winced, looking down at it and wondering if he could pass it off as walking into a tree because it had been to dark to see when he had gotten home. His dad would be suspicious the next week, he was sure of it.
He growled softly and grabbed a napkin, dampened it with the water bottle and started cleaning his knuckles, careful not to utter a sound. It was seven in the morning and he was pretty much certain he was the only one awake in the house, as usual. He sighed again, and walked into his back room, which he had converted into an office for most purposes, as well as his storage for things not well received by his parents. He flipped up the light switch and headed towards the closet door in the corner, careful not to step on any of the objects tossed haphazardly everywhere. He made a mental note to pick up and clean his floor as soon as he could, and opened the closet door.
Three bottle of whiskey sat on the top shelf, each one about half empty, shot glasses upside down on the caps. He grabbed the largest bottle, stared at it for a moment and nodded to himself. He closed the closet door and walked back out to his bedroom, placed the bottle next to his bed and grabbed a towel, the sudden need to scrub off all of last night washing over him like a wave.
He no longer wanted to remember it, the joint, the beer, the fear, the pain, the crying and vomiting and worst of all the anger. All the anger and rage he had felt half the night, at himself, at his friends, at his girl, at everyone and everything until everything had gone red and he had punched a tree so he didn't do something else he would regret later, and he had bled and she had found out, her hands rubbing his and her voice hurt and he was on the ground staring at the stars, and then he was face to face with her and he just wanted to break down and cry and hold her forever, but he couldn't because she didn't want him to see her like this and he didn't want her to see him like this and the anger welled up again, this time tasting like acid and beer, and he swallowed it back down, not wanting her to be upset or grossed out or anything. He pulled his hand out from under hers and played with her hair as they lay back and talked and she became more and more beautiful as she talked and he found himself wishing this never had to end.
And then she had to talk to people, more people, people he did and didn't know, and people he did and didn't like, and he was walking with her oldest friend and her friend was praising him and saying how he thought they were amazing together and how he had talked to her and that he thought he should stay because she needed him right now, even if she said leave. And she did, many times, after first telling him to stay and he had told her it would be alright and he would stay for now, and then explaining how she really never wanted him to see her like this ever, and he was hurt. Hurt because she wanted to hide from him this side of her, but...he kind of liked this side, it was crazy and wild, like she usually was, but on a more extreme level of it, and he really liked that.
But she kept telling him to leave, that she didn't want him to see her like this, like a broken record, and then she had her friends escort him home, god knows why, he was actually sober at this point, not even a drop of wooziness and tipsyness left in him, and he was upset. Why should HE leave? He was the only one not messed up in the slightest right now, and her making him leave pissed him off. It pissed him off a lot. And it worried him, making him anxious, jittery, his mind going even faster now than it had before when he raged out, thousands of miles a second, all focused on her and how he wasn't sure what would happen, and he was scared, so very scared, terrified even, but all of this fear lay under so much anger right now, and he wasn't sure what to do anymore, so he called home to leave the door unlocked, and he walked home with his new friends, talking about the night and their emotions, and they put him at momentary ease. He went inside, locked the door and made sure they went the right way back to the girls, his anxiety back in full swing once they were gone.
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