Unfinished.

All I can think of as I'm puking my guts out in someone else's toilet is how much vomit smells like the inside of an old lady's purse. Clutching the porcelain and retching what little I had in my stomach to begin with, I smell like I've rolled in Nana's laundry. There's a brief ceasefire from my stomach and I collapse to the stinging cold tile of a strangers bathroom. I'm exhausted and sloppy, groaning as my shaking fingers fumble for the handle, the stench of last night's Little Caesars Extra Cheese making my stomach clench. I've nothing left to heave. All I want is to curl up in the tangled, unfamiliar sheets of whoever I went home with last night. I clamp my eyes shut, trying to muster the will power to drag myself from my mighty throne beside the potty and to the bed the next room over. I open my eyes after a moment, resting my sticky, sweaty forehead against the toilet and look down at my legs, curled beneath me and clad in silky shamrock boxers two sizes too small. I grimace as I stand and feel the stubble on my legs rub together. I cross my goosebump littered arms across my naked chest, trying to ignore the frigidness of the bathroom. Finally crossing the threshold, I wiggle my toes in the indulgently warm carpet. Against the blackness, I see the faint outline of gawky, too long limbs strewn across the mattress, barely contained in burgundy sheets. I purse my lips, nudging naked arms and legs to one side of the bed. Nameless boy groans over the squeak of the boxspring after I make enough room to lay down. I tug the sheets from his stiff fingers and curl up to the numerous pillows. It smells delicious- a clean boy. Faintly like the outside, with a soft, lingering scent of soap. A nice alternative to the stench of my own vomit I was inhaling moments ago. Nameless boy rolls over and tugs me closer, burying stubble in the crook of my neck. I grimace. He grips me like an absurd teddy bear and I sigh uncomfortably. Prying my arms out of his grip I press the heels of my palms to my closed eyelids, little stars exploding against the blackness. I draw them back slowly, smeared in eyeliner and mascara and god knows what else. Theres a muffled "Stop wiggling. Jesus." from nameless boy and I continue to squirm out of spite. After hours of staring holes in the ceiling I'm drowned in a blanket of sleep. I leave the next morning before he can ask my name. The rock 'n' roll life can be a hard one to lead, but someone's gotta live it.