5
Chris
Islowly open one eye, as my phone alarm makes its tenth attempt at bursting my eardrum. I reach out my left arm, groping for the nightstand, hoping it’s where I left my phone. I try, without turning over, to feel around for it: tissue box, empty glass, biscuit crumbs…I lift my head, groaning from the effort, and open the other eye. Suddenly, the ringing stops abruptly.
“Good morning!” A voice jerks my head aside.
“What are you doing just standing there?”
“Waiting for you to wake up.”
“What time is it?”
“Quarter to eight,” he says, checking my phone.
“Why did you just let it keep ringing?” I try – with difficulty – to pull myself into a sitting position.
Last night I had one drink too many: sadly, in bed, by myself, drowning my room with tears watching a romcom with a fairy-tale ending that I should definitely have avoided.
“I was curious to see what time you’d wake up.”
“You could’ve at least brought me a coffee, seeing as you’re already up.”
“I would have, if you’d remembered to buy any. Or if you’d remembered to buy milk, bread, butter, maybe…you know, things you’d normally have in the house to…damn, what’s it called again? To eat?”
“Aren’t we feeling nice this morning.”
“Maybe if you get moving, I’ll manage not to be late for school today. What do you think?”
“I’ll be ready in five minutes,” I lie shamelessly.
“Mum…” he says reproachfully.
“Let’s make it fifteen.”
Evan snorts and leaves my room, while I attempt to get out of bed. A banging headache blurs my vision in front of the wardrobe, so I decide to take a quick shower first, in the vain hope of waking up at least thirty per cent of my brain.
I take off my pyjamas and underwear, tie my hair up and relax under the warm water for just a few minutes, to avoid being tormented again by my own personal Jiminy Cricket. I wrap myself in a towel and go back into my room, where I’m faced once again by the wardrobe. I open one door and realise that, as I feared, it’s almost completely empty. I appear to have forgotten to do the laundry as well as the food shopping.
“I didn’t have any clothes either.” Evan makes me jump from the doorway.
“I’ll put a load on as soon as I get back.”
“You said that two days ago,” he says, nodding towards the overflowing laundry basket abandoned in the hall.
Without replying, I grab a pair of jeans and a shirt, then head towards the dresser and pick out some clean underwear, before turning towards him.
“Do you mind?”
He holds his hands up and turns away, finally leaving me with a little privacy.
I get dressed in a rush, take my hair down and run my hands through it. I bolt down the stairs, where Evan is impatiently waiting on the last step.
“Okay, ready – let me grab my bag and we’ll get going.”
“I’ve already started the car.”
“So what are you still doing in here?”
