"Mm…hmm?" As my eyes groggily opened and began to clear, I slowly sat up from the couch.
The television was blaring with the credits, and my mind quickly caught up with my body as I stared blankly into the rapidly passing names.
"…Right. House-sitting. Shit." I groaned, falling back into the comfort of the green couch and tossing aside my jacket, which I had used as a blanket.
My sister had asked for me to stay at her house while she was on vacation for a few days, apparently her plants or whatever needed watching. I remembered being surprised that she had asked me, of all people, given that I wasn't very popular in the family anymore. But, that was another story entirely.
Standing up, I smoothed my short black hair back and stumbled towards the bathroom. As usual, I felt like shit.
Stepping into the tiled closet of a bathroom, I closed the door out of some instinctual need for privacy as I began the nightly routine of attempting to puke my guts out.
Even the light, I noticed, was a sickly dim yellow that screamed of a desperate need for the bulb to be replaced and put out of its misery.
Of course, I didn't really care much to think about it for long before I buckled my knees in front of the toilet and gagged, squeezing my eyelids together as hard as I could.
"Well…nothing this time, at least." I thought as I opened my eyes, gazing upon the same pristine water as before.
I was already starting to feel better, so that was a plus. Dragging myself to my feet, I took the time to look into the neatly polished mirror before me.
My name is Sasha Lovett.
I am 22 years old, three-quarters Asian and one quarter Hispanic, and a college dropout.
My arms and legs are covered in tattoos of all designs, although I personally prefer symbols and neat little patterns with black ink to the colorful mosaics I often see on people. I put a couple on my chest and lower belly, but anything else I'm a bit iffy on.
Never bothered to get piercings beyond earrings, those things weird me out a hell of a lot.
I cut my black hair short like a boy, and half the time I dress like one, too. Thank god my breasts are that small, otherwise I'd never pull it off…ugh, god, I'm not going to defend my breast size.
I wear a lot of eyeliner, I hate lipstick, and I am way too thin for my age and size. I'm pale as a motherfucking polar bear in a blizzard, and I can't tan for the life of me.
I'm wearing an old pair of gray shorts that are about knee-length and just a little too baggy for my taste, and a black tank top.
Needless to say, I am unemployed, and my successful family ostracizes me every chance they get.
Dropped out of college because, again, couldn't get a job, and my family refused to offer any sort of financial support.
But I get by. Odd jobs keep me fed, I keep up a decent "paycheck" for an apartment by selling shit I find on Amazon or eBay.
I play video games. Lots of video games. I'd probably be less broke if I didn't play so many video games.
I have a stomach condition that comes up every so often, and every time it does, I find myself waking up in the middle of the night wanting to or actually succeeding at puking all over myself. My doctor laughs me off half the time and gives me half-baked prescriptions that don't even make any damn sense.
Yeah, that's my life. It's not perfect, but it could be a hell of a lot worse.
Stretching my arms, I let out a loud yawn.
I had glanced at the clock back in the living room, and it was only about three in the morning. I hadn't planned on doing an all-nighter, but no way was I in the mood for trying to go back to sleep.
Having left the bathroom, I retrieved my laptop and fired up the old word processor, settling back down on the couch.
Guess I forgot to mention that I'm a fiction writer, as well.
Glancing at my previously opened documents, I saw several files that made me cringe.
All Hail The Queen
The Last Acolyte
By The Blood
All of them were stories that I hadn't finished, nor had I continued them in a while. It was an unfortunate habit that I had seemed to have picked up over the years, not finishing the stories I'd started.
However, amongst those files one caught my eye.
"That's weird." I commented out loud, shaking my head as my mouse cursor hovered over it.
I didn't recall writing anything by that name.
The "last changed" notation listed it as having been opened and modified…only an hour ago.
"Wait, what?" I scowled in annoyance. There was no way I had changed it, I had been…asleep. That sudden realization made me gulp, taking a quick glance side to side.
Wait a minute. This is silly.
Nobody could have gotten into this house, I'd locked up the whole place.
And who'd go to the trouble to troll my laptop and do nothing else while I was asleep?
It's a glitch on my laptop, I'm sure.
Taking a deep breath to steady my hand, I hesitantly pressed on my mouse and opened "The Accords".
And…nothing. It was…empty?
I blinked, studying the empty white screen with confusion, scrolling up and down to search for whatever secret message was there. And as suddenly and easily as it opened, both Word and Windows suddenly closed themselves, presenting the dreaded blue screen of death.
What had been hesitation and confusion before quickly turned to anger.
"This is bullshit." I growled, setting my laptop aside and folding my arms as I tried to think about what could have caused this.
Ugh. This is bullshit. Bull. Shit.
Who fucked up my computer and put a phony Word document on there while I was asleep?
Nobody. This is some stupid mistake.
Slamming the screen down, I stood up and paced towards the kitchen with scathing accusations to anyone and everyone who had access to my laptop running through my mind.
"Fuck it, I'm getting a drink." I cursed, and began to search the cupboards.
Nothing like a cold bottle of…fuck, anything…to calm the nerves.
One haphazard foray through my sister's messed up kitchen and a couple broken shot glasses later, my troubles were rewarded with a bottle of whiskey and a cracked shot glass.
I'd never tried whiskey before, but a few gulps of tequila a summer ago certainly hadn't complained with me too much, so how bad could it be?
As I swallowed the third shot, I began to finally feel better. Although that wasn't the only thing I was feeling.
"Okaaaay…guess I'm not much of a drinker." I groaned, clutching at my stomach uncomfortably. Admittedly, I had gotten extremely sick after having tried tequila that time, but I had attributed that to my recurring stomach illness.
Glancing at the flat silver device that I had left on the couch, I grimaced uncomfortably. It was probably nothing.
But I didn't know that for sure.
Gingerly putting the shot glass down, I let out a long sigh.
"I need a fucking shower." I murmured, my hands splayed across my face as I tried to ignore my roiling, liquor-filled stomach.
Some light classical music playing would be nice, too…and a fucking puke bag wouldn't hurt, either.
Well, I'm not drinking again.
This feels like a very weird turn for me.
But I haven't done a "true" self-insert before on Fictionpress, and I figure now is a good time to start.
Not sure where quite I'm headed with this, but I think that'll be part of the adventure of writing this. I just want y'all to realize that this story is going to change quite a bit as far as setting and characters.
Anyway, sorry I haven't been active.
Been sick out of my bloody mind for the past couple weeks (as my multiple mentions of a sick stomach throughout this chapter might reference), got my wisdom teeth pulled a Wednesday or two ago, and I've been trying to get my lazy ass back on track with All Hail.
I figure now that I've beaten all that there is to Bloodborne and Arkham Knight, and I've finished watching HarshlyCritical's FNAF4 playthrough, so I don't have an excuse anymore to not writing.
Anyway, just to give warning.
This story might get a bit messy, hahh, in more ways than one. And this is coming from the fucked up chick who wrote AHTQ, BtB, and TLA, along with a severely disturbed library on of my previous works.
So if I'm saying this is gonna get fucked up, it's gonna get fucked up pretty bad.
So just keep that in mind, pals?