I Am Your Tourniquet
Chapter Two
By the time the singer eventually woke up it was 4 in the afternoon. Blinking his eyes slowly, he sat up in an attempt to figure out where he was and why before his crippling headache forced him back down again.
Hangover.
He lazily glanced around the room he now recognised as his own, noticing the broken glass and bits of various smashed-up items littering the carpet. Jesus, what happened last night? He groped to his left for the familiar, warm body of his partner to find the bed was empty, and then it dawned on him. He remembered drinking a lot, he remembered smashing the place up, he remembered shouting and screaming and swearing and slashing at his wrists and...Twiggy. He remembered Twiggy. He remembered the row, he remembered him leaving, but he didn’t remember him coming back. Oh fuck.
He made it to the bathroom just in time and proceeded to throw up again and again and again.
Hangover.
He lazily glanced around the room he now recognised as his own, noticing the broken glass and bits of various smashed-up items littering the carpet. Jesus, what happened last night? He groped to his left for the familiar, warm body of his partner to find the bed was empty, and then it dawned on him. He remembered drinking a lot, he remembered smashing the place up, he remembered shouting and screaming and swearing and slashing at his wrists and...Twiggy. He remembered Twiggy. He remembered the row, he remembered him leaving, but he didn’t remember him coming back. Oh fuck.
He made it to the bathroom just in time and proceeded to throw up again and again and again.