The paint on the ceiling was peeling off.
That was what Jake noticed as he lay on his bed, his arms splayed at his sides carelessly, a result of him crashing down on the bed earlier that morning when he got home from the party, completely wasted. He just woke up from sleep a few moments before and had no intention earlier whatsoever to get up from bed and make himself known to the world that exists outside of his bedroom.
The clock on the wall in front of his bed showed him what time it was: 6:30 AM. Jake narrowed his bloodshot eyes at the clock, his brows furrowed in confusion.
It’s so early, he thought, his eyes gazing around the room as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.
And with that thought in mind, he exhaled through his nose, closed his eyes and let himself become trapped once again in the waiting arms of slumber.
The sound of a door slamming on the wall was what woke him up half an hour later.
“Crap,” he croaked out, his voice hoarse from sleep and from too much alcohol. He squinted at Dakota who was standing with her hands on her hips at the doorway of his room.
“Jake, would you get your ass out of bed and do something useful? Like maybe help Riley move the rest of the stuff up to the attic.” Her shrill voice was not helping his sleep-muddled mind.
He faced the wall, away from her. “Later,” he grunted, closing his eyes again.
He heard Dakota sigh in frustration. “So useless,” she mumbled. “What the hell are we going to do with you?” She proceeded to slam the door shut.
Maybe she’s right, stated the more sensible and sober part of himself that was already making a reappearance. Maybe I should just get my ass out of bed and stop being my useless and sorry self. Maybe then everyone wouldn’t think I’m good for nothing.
Yeah. Maybe later.