"Gwahk."

I think that's me. But then again, I have the worst fucking hang over in the world, so I'm not too sure of anything right now. Well, except I am pretty sure someone stole my brain during the night and replaced it with cotton. Stupid brain thieves. Hee. Who'd steal my brain anyway? Not like I'm that smart: case in point, my massive hang over and how sick I feel; it's like an angry little animal is shifting around in my stomach. Gaaah, why'd I drink so much?!

Oh wait, I remember, it's because Palla brought over some of that white zinfandel wine that I love so much. Yeah, I know, it's the cheap stuff, but I have a belief that you should only drink alcohol that tastes good and you'd be surprised how much the expensive stuff can suck. My God, I'd make a wonderful role model for kids, wouldn't I?

I snicker. Then groan. Stupid hang overs.

"Hey. Drunky. Get up," a voice says. I try to open my eyes but the lights are on and it's too goddamn bright, so I can't see who it is. And my head's too fuzzy to make any sense of it. Haha. Cotton IS fuzzy, isn't it? Unintentional pun…Gotta love those. "Come on, I don't have all day." I frown; still can't make out who it is, it's weird how disembodied they sound…

"Is that God…?" I wonder aloud and then get smacked on the head, which of course makes my hangover feel so much better. ow ow ow ow owwww…I clutch my head and try not to throw up. I admit that was a stupid thing to say but stillGive a sick person a break.

"Hell no, idiot. Just get the fuck up already." Something pushes me hard in the ribs.

"Eep," I say. I sound like a baby bird. The same something pushes me again, only a lot harder this time. In response I make a sound like a dying cat.

"Look, as amusing as this is" and the voice doesn't sound very amused, but I value my life (and my ribs) too much to point that out "I really don't have the time. So get your ass up and get ready for school already."

"Fuck school," I mumble and try to inch away from whatever it is that keeps poking at me. I think it's a foot though. Blech. But it's kinda impossible to escape because I'm in a twin size bed. I bet if I was the size of a squirrel I could do it…then again I hate squirrels. They are very scary creatures. Cartoons that show squirrels as cute and innocent are nothing but lying propaganda. Seriously. "Grrr. Stop it."

"I'll stop it when you get up," the voice says, exasperated and starting to get pissed. "You have five minutes before I call Palla in here." Now I love Palla like my sister, I really do, but she's like immune to hangovers, and she wouldn't be averse to torturing me using my own unfortunate susceptibility to the damn things. Especially since she hates being woken up in the morning more than I do, which is definitely saying something. My eyes snap open.

"Gyaaaaaah!!!" Ohmygod, the light, it fucking burns!!! Who the hell turned it on in the first place?! I immediately shut my eyes and blindly maneuver my way out of bed. I trip over someone's poorly placed foot and my head almost smacks into the wood floor when I fall.

"Graceful, much?" the voice sniggers. I manage to open my eyes the tiniest bit so I can glare at the owner to the voice. It's Phoenix. Palla's twin brother, unfortunately. Otherwise I wouldn't have anything to do with the prick.

"It's your fault," is my genius comeback. I bet he placed his foot there on purpose, so I'd trip over it. It's so something he'd do. He sniggers again.

"You look like a blind constipated old woman, squinting like that," he comments. Being the much better person that I am, I ignore him. I mean, it's not like I can help the fact that I don't look the greatest in the morning; does anyone look good in the morning? Stupid Phoenix and his stupid comments. I look down at the floor where it isn't so bright and after a minute I find I can sort of open my eyes. Blinking a lot, I look up to find that Phoenix is gone; must have zoned out for that minute because I didn't hear him leave.

I sigh and slowly get up from where I was kneeling to go take a shower.

-----------------

I walk into the kitchen, all squeaky clean and everything and wearing my spiffy school uniform. Navy blue slacks, white shirt, and navy blue tie. So not what I'm used to wearing. Well. At least the colors aren't bad. I grab a strawberry (blueberry's my favorite, but I take what I can get) granola bar from the pantry and a bag of chips for lunch, though just looking at food makes me want to go find a toilet to heave my guts out in.

My headache is still firmly in place and doesn't seem to be moving anytime soon, and I am so fucking exhausted. I really don't want to go to hell, uh, I mean school, and I am this close to begging Phoenix to let me stay home--not that he would, you know, anything to make me suffer. All I can say is I am never ever drinking again, and I mean it, no matter how persuasive Palla is, and she's damn persuasive.

"Add shampoo to the shopping list," I say blearily to Phoenix. "I'm out." He's leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching the tiny T.V. that's by the sink. Yeah, I know it's a bad idea to put electronics near water but blame the person who designed the apartment because the space by the sink is the only place in the kitchen that there's an outlet.

"Do it yourself," he says without looking up. He's wearing his ripped light blue jeans and an equally ripped white t-shirt; his feet are bare.

I sigh. "You're closer." No answer, he just turns the volume of the television up louder. Yeah, THAT'S mature, alright. "Fine, I'll do it myself," I mutter and go and write it on the little dry erase board that we keep on the fridge for reminders/notes such as this

Ten minutes later it's time for me to go to school (the horror), and I lift my very heavy backpack onto my shoulders. Honestly, I think my teachers are trying to kill me by loading me up with thick textbooks. It's a teacher's conspiracy, I swear: they become teachers just so they can torture students like they were tortured in school.

I'm almost out the door when Phoenix grabs my wrist and sniffs somewhere above my head.

"What?" I snap and try to wriggle out of his grasp.

"You used my shampoo, didn't you?" he accuses. I roll my eyes. He's so obsessed with his hair, he's such a girl about it. His hair's actually black, but he likes to dye it white-blonde for whatever reason. And it actually kinda works because he has these deep blue eyes and pale, but not too pale, skin.

"Yeah, so what?" I say, flipping my thick chestnut brown braid over my shoulder and then wincing because that just added an extra hard throb to the throbbing dance of pain my head has going on.

"So, your hair is down to your ass, and you probably used half the fucking bottle! That stuff isn't cheap, you know," he complains. He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, which he does when he's feeling frustrated.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'll pay you back later, okay?" I say hurriedly; if I don't get out the door soon, I'm going to be late. "Geez, Platinum, don't get your panties in a wad." He bristles a bit at the nickname (so named because of his dyed platinum blonde hair, of course! haha) but just turns to go back to the T.V., disgusted with me like always.

I almost have the door closed when he says, "Sym?"

"Yeah?" I lean against the doorway, feeling like I'm going to collapse from tiredness.

"You really do look like shit."

My left eye twitches a bit.

"Thanks," I say, throwing in as much sarcasm as humanly possible.

"No problem." He smirks at me then goes back to whatever he was watching.

What a fucking prick.