Punks Don't Wear Prada

Sunday
11:14 AM.

I woke up suddenly, with my head throbbing and my mouth as dry as dust.
Ahhhhhhhh. I sat up slowly despite the dull, throbbing pain in the back of my brain.

"Finally up, sleeping beauty?" I heard an overly-loud, male voice say in a humored voice.

"Where am I?" I whispered, my voice cracking from lack of moisture.

"My house, Sweetie. Dude, you were so drunk last night -it was hilarious!" the loud voice said, and laughed a deep, throaty laugh. I gasped at the pain his amusement brought me, and let my body flop back to the soft surface I was lying on.

"Who's my?" I questioned, and that's when I realized my eyes were still closed. Quickly, I opened them, and nearly screamed when I saw a male face with terribly dark, heart-throbbing blue eyes looming uncomfortably close to my pounding head.
"Jees, back up!" I pleaded, and shut my eyes tightly. The boy's piercing blue eyes didn't leave my vision; for some reason, I wanted to open my own eyes again just to see his. Instead, I bossed, "And could you please stop shouting?"

"I'm sorry," the boy said in a much quieter tone, farther away.
I opened my eyes again, squinting in the bright sunlight of midmorning. I kept my eyes on the ceiling, wiggling my toes from under a scratchy wool blanket. The ceiling was an unfamiliar off-white color, with big blocks of paint peeling off in an untidy manner. With a pang, I realized that this is not normal;. maybe for Emma, but certainly not me.

"Where am I?" I repeated, "Other than your place."

"You're at 3451 Apt C, Rydell Road, Maryville, Kentucky, 78552*," the boy provided.

"Oh. . . I'm only a few blocks from home," I thought loud, then wandered: "What time is it?

The boy checked his watch. Who wears watches these days? "Eleven-fifty."

"Who are you?" I asked the ceiling.

"Merc, Merc Walters. We went to the same party last night. . . . You were pretty wasted, and some how I ended up being everyone's Designated Driver. You couldn't tell me where you lived, so I decided to just bring you here. Your friend with the brown hair -Amy, I think her name is?- went home with some guy named Jess or something and told me to give you this." He tried to hand me a piece of wrinkled paper, but since I refused to break eye contact with the peeling ceiling, he just tossed it on my stomach.

". . . Are you okay?" Merc asked carefully.

"Am I okay? No I am not okay," I hissed. "I've just woken up in a stranger's house with a disgusting ceiling after attending a party which I can't even remember, and I feel like I'm going to die of some sort brain damage," I fingered a welt on my forehead.

"Oh, that's just from where you hit your head on the toilet. I tried to catch you but your head was flopping all over the place." Merc explained apologetically, and I finally broke my gaze from the ceiling and glanced into his eyes, which were full of sincerity. My eyes wandered to the rest of his face; his full, almost girlish lips, his high cheekbones sprinkled with freckles, his shaggy dark hair that kept falling into said blue eyes, and back to his lips. . . Which were now grinning. Shit, he caught me staring. "Uh, sorry."

"For what?" He smirked, but I ignored him. I sat up again, slowly, and glanced around the rest of the apartment. A puke green blanket was thrown over my legs, and I was lying on an equally hideous purple couch. But hey, at least it was super comfortable. Merc was sitting on a old, beat up coffee table made of oak wood, and I spotted a matching table shoved in the corner of the room, with big plastic chairs haphazardly placed around it. To the right there was a door leading to what I guessed to be a kitchen.

"It's not much, but it suits me," Merc defended and shrugged.

"It's. . . Nice. . ." I provided, lamely. Despite the awkward feeling in my stomach, I felt pretty relaxed here. I stretched out my arms, and the piece of paper fell to the floor. I glanced down, but then I realized I wasn't wearing my shirt. I was wearing a huge black tee, with some sort of weird picture on it. The relaxed feeling promptly left and panic started taking place. I tried to discreetly feel around for fabric on my bottom.

"Don't worry," Merc said patiently, noticing my odd jerking movement, "We didn't do anything. While we were driving home you and a couple of girls thought it would be 'fun' to throw your shirts out of the window. You nearly punched me in my face last night when I shoved the shirt over your head. I'm pretty sure your exact words were -he altered his voice to a loud, 'girly' pitch- Mother fucking no! I don't wear shit like that! If you put that on me I'll kick you in your god-damn face! Does that ring any bells?"
I laughed, but shook my head no.

"I don't remember anything, but I am told that I cuss a lot when I'm drunk."

"Hah, I'd say so." We kind of awkwardly grinned at each other for a few minutes.

"Hey, what's that noise?" Merc asked, glancing around. Faintly, I could hear the ringtone on my phone going off.

"That's my phone, do you know where it is?"

"Not a clue."

"Gre-at," I sighed. "At least it's here though," Merc said, "I'll Help you look for it."

We started hunting for it, and found it in the crisper of the fridge half an hour later.

"How the hell did it get in there?" He exclaimed, and we both burst into laughter.

I had a missed call from Emma, so after Merc and I made two bowls of cereal and sat down at the old oak table, I called her back.

"Hey Em," I greeted.

"Where the hell are you?!" She demanded in a shrill voice.

"At Merc's. . . Where are you?" I replied calmly, enjoying her concern. Usually this was the other way around, with me calling her while she was at some stranger's house.

"At the gym with Jess and Josh! We've been fucking worried sick! When you didn't show up an hour ago we assumed you were at home, hung over, but your mother said you were still at Angela's. We called Angela and apparently, she's still at your house. I told her to fucking watch you!" Emma fumed. Shit, Josh! Pretty much all thought of anything had left my mind.

"Is she mad?" Merc whispered, and I nodded yes with panicky eyes.

"Em, I'll be there in ten." I said, and hung up before she could protest.

"Thanks, um Merc. For, everything. But, I have to go now. . . My best friend's going to kill me with the help of my boyfriend," I said, shoveling cereal into my mouth and abruptly standing up, ignoring my protesting head.
Merc looked slightly surprised, but nodded in agreement. "Okay, I have to be to work soon anyways. But you're welcome." He stood up too, and smiled. "If you ever need me. . . Here's my number." He handed me a slip of paper which I tucked into my pocket.
"And here's that piece of paper from Amy," He provided, and I slipped that one into my pocket too.

"Thanks again," I said, and wrapped my arms around his middle for two awkward seconds. He laughed his oddly deep laugh again, and opened the door for me.

I dug my shoes from underneath the couch and headed outside, dreading Emma's lecture.