Battling the Loss You Live For.

I woke up, and it felt like my skull was fractured. It fucking hurt.
“Ahh, fuck!” I groaned, sitting up and clutching a hand to my head, crawling out of bed quickly. I needed painkillers.
I was still dressed in my clothes from yesterday, and to be honest, they were disgusting. They had that sandy-salty feel to them from the beach, and they reeked of booze from all the pubs and clubs I went into after. I think I had gotten beer spilled over me, too, because my hair stank of it, too.
I got into the bathroom, taking some painkillers and getting into the shower. I felt like a zombie.

I walked into the kitchen in fresh clothes and less of a headache, seeing Charley and Katie sat at the table. They stopped eating, scanning my appearance.
“Are you okay?” Charley asked, with a hint of sympathy in his tone.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, going over to the fridge and pulling out the margarine. I pushed some bread into the toaster, then grabbed the coffee pot and poured some into a mug.
“…Are you sure?” Katie asked with the same kind of tone.
“Yes, I fucking am,” I growled, not looking at them.
“Where’s Sydney?” I asked, still not turning around to face them. I just couldn’t be bothered with that shit.
“Working,” Charley stated. I could feel his eyes burning into my back.
“Sazzy, could you just talk to u-”
“No. I don’t feel like explaining, because there’s nothing to explain. Just leave it.”
He did say anything for a while, but I heard the door swing shut. Charley probably told her to leave.
“We’re worried about you.”
“You shouldn’t be. I’m fine.”
“Are you? Because if you were fine, you would’ve been sober yesterday,” he said, his eyes still burning into my back. I didn’t answer, but grabbed my toast as it popped up, buttering them quickly, cursing in my head as I sat at the table. His eyes followed me.
“Frank was really ripped up.”
Fucker. He knows how I tick.
“F-Frank…?” I whispered, looking up at him. His eyebrows were furrowed, scrutinizing almost. He was worried, I suppose.
“Yeah… you should check your phone. He was ringing you all night, then rung me after, because you wouldn’t answer. He thought… something happened to you. We all did,” he explained, rubbing at his forehead.
I felt really bad. It was such a bitchy thing to do, I guess, just to go when everyone else was out, without telling anyone anything…
“I… is he… does he-”
“It’s alright. I phoned him when I put you to bed last night,” he said, pulling out a cigarette from the packet on the table, lighting it up.
“You’d better ring him after you’ve eaten, though. He was really worried.”

“Sazzy?! Is that you?” Charley was right.
“Yeah, it’s me, babe,” I said, my eyes closing as I heard his voice. I missed him.
“Fucking hell, Sazzy, I was so worried about you,” he said, sounding tired, drained.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my lips quivering at his stressed voice. I’d caused this.
“Baby, it’s okay. Just… please, don’t do it again. I called you so many times-”
“I know… I’m sorry. I don’t remember it going off. I guess I didn’t hear it,” I explained, lighting up a cigarette. I heard him sigh.
“Can we talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to say,” I said, frowning. I didn’t want to talk about it, really.
“Yes there is. I don’t know anything. What happened? Charley just told me you were… missing.”
“I was at the beach,” I stated, exhaling smoke.
“Until midnight?” he asked a knowing tone in his voice.
“I went to some clubs and pubs…” I clarified.
“…You got drunk?”
“A little… well, yeah.”
He groaned, and I could picture him rubbing the back of his neck.
“Talk to me.”
And then I just launched into it, telling him everything that had happened – what was going through my head, that guy thinking I was a whore, drinking… getting beer spilt on me, getting hammered at pubs, then moving on to another one, just everything.
“…Fuck,” was all he said. Then it was silent for a good minute.
“All of it is my fault.”
I was baffled. His fault?! How? He was in Jersey!
“Frank… what in God’s name are you talking about?”
“It is! If I was there, on your eighteenth birthday – Happy Birthday, by the way – then you wouldn’t of-”
“Frank, you dick. I am not expecting you to fly all the way over here just because it’s my eighteenth birthday. I don’t care what shitting day it is, I could not care less. I am-”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry. I just… miss you. And I’ve never… you never do stuff like that,” he said, mumbling a little.
He makes me smile.