Pick-Me-Up

A lot of people think white is the most serene colour to exist. White or blue.

I’m sorry, but I have to disagree there.

Lying here on the hard floor with my lids forced shut against the light, I’d have to argue that black has a far more calming effect. It’s so blank. More so than white - white glares at you, and reflects the glare right back into your retinas. White could blind you - and what’s so serene about that?

I’d have said that anything that tried to blind me was bad. Drunken man with pocket knife for example. Only a white man would be stupid enough to wave around a knife on a night out. I think a black man would be more careful. Wait, how did I bring race into this?

I open my eyes slowly and wince at my surroundings. White, all white - that meant Will’s kitchen. I sit up slowly, my eyes verifying my assumption as my head spins sickeningly.

My guess would be that I’d stumbled in here drunk last night and passed out on the kitchen floor. Possibly hitting my head on a cabinet in the process, I mentally add, bringing my hand up to a sore lump on the top of my skull. I pull myself up, grateful that my hangovers never surpassed a weak headache at the worst.

‘Will?’ I croak, my throat parched. I lumber over to the sink, running myself a glass of water and gulping it down far to quickly - I feel my stomach expand uncomfortably under the waistband of my jeans. Setting the glass down onto the countertop and squinting slightly, I drag myself slowly through the kitchen to the hallway, and across it into the only bedroom in Will’s apartment.

‘Will?’ I croak again, eyeing a lump underneath a heap of duvets.

‘Fuck off,’ he mutters sourly, voice muffled beneath the heavy sheets. I walk over, regardless of his request, and perch on the edge of the bed unsteadily. I place a hand hesitantly on the duvets.

Suddenly, they’re wrenched away, and Will flings himself upright, face bright red and livid.

‘I said fuck off! You hate me shouting at you so why don’t you take a fucking hint? Fuck. Off. Before I throw you the fuck out myself.’

I should have known he’d be like this.

‘Will…’

‘Don’t fucking ‘Will…’ me. I’m passed it, Danielle - I don’t know what more I can say to you. I love you but...almost every night! Every night…’

‘I’m sorry…’ I grumble, half heartedly. And I am sorry, though probably not for the reason he’s shouting.

‘You’re always sorry. I hate this. You go out every night and end up back in here off your head. You don’t even live with me! I won’t fucking take it any more. Grow the fuck up, or fuck off.’ Will slumps back down again grumpily, though his eyebrows are arched in a silent plea. He probably thinks I can’t see, but perhaps I have the best view from up here.

I can’t stand it when he’s being irrational. I stand up, rolling my eyes, and leave the room for a cigarette and a shot of cheap general store vodka.

Just a little pick me up after a long night.