Morning already? No, can't be. I saw the sun peek up over the slanted roofs of my small nucleus neighbourhood. I sat with my back against the wall, clutching a tear-stained pillow. I still felt the fear in veins, my body shook all over. Thank the person upstairs for morning, if only they could give me more. The ground was bare of objects, but the dust clung to my bare feet. The only things that really sat on this old wood were my small being and the broken bottles in the corner. The ooze that dribbled from them now, had ruined my night, maybe more.

I'm hardly of drinking age, but I only do it because of friends. They offered me a bottle of the poison once in the field near school. I had only been there a few months, and these were my first friends in a long while. I wasn't going to pass up a chance of this. I took the bottle in my cold hands and let it flow down my throat, they patted me on the back. If only I had not been so desperate.

I heard the fumbling of the strangers downstairs, some I considered friends.
A long drunken drawl of words was exchanged between them, and a smash. I sat ridged. I didn't know if the lock on the door would hold. Morning brought light to me, but also woke them up. I told them last night I would stop drinking, it was hurting me. They looked at me sarcasticly, thinking I was joking. They pushed a brand into my face, and told me to "chug against Jason's bitch". She was tall and slender, with golden hair down to her small hips. I was frightened, so I gulp it down. After that I could only remember fractions of the night. All vivid against the background, all horrible.

As I sat spread across a crowded couch drunk, someone sat me up and asked me to take some paper. I obeyed without asking. A few minutes later they took the paper, I couldn't remember who it was, but there was drowsy laughing at my ears. A small white roll was shoved between my lips, it faintly tasted of nicotine. And a flame was added to enhance. And then that fraction faded.

Between the snippy fractions, were blurs, all dark and distressing. No light, no morning.

The next fraction, I was in a room, my room near the roof. There was screaming, and slurred words. I was leaning my head against someone's shoulder. I felt the violent press of lips on my forehead, but I didn't get up or see the person who kissed me. No familiarities. Bottles were broken, the smashes. They were screaming at me, I had stolen something, or someone. Like static, it waved in and out, sometimes vivid and other moments unrecognisable. I felt a large force to my head, and the violent shouts of others, and it was gone. All my thoughts of the night were gone, as tears swelled up. But morning was here.

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