One could very well argue that what I was doing on a night like this was... Immoral, at best...
No. Most people would think this disrespectful.
I got that... But I didn't care enough to stop.
I was dragging a drunk blonde woman whose name I couldn't remember to the bathroom (so she wouldn't puke on my sofa).
One arm over my shoulder. Baby steps.
"Hey Penelope, someone's knocking!" The unrecognizable silhouette at the end of the hall called.
"My hands are full," I stated. "You get it instead," I requested of the unrecognizable man holding a beer and standing by the entrance.
"Blargh—!" The woman's hand went stiff on my shoulder.
"No—" My eyes widened as her right palm flew to her lips, stifling her vomit. "Not on my floor!" I yelled, dragging her to the bathroom.
~
The living room had gotten chillier when I walked back into it. I had less clothing on me now. The vomit-stained coat no longer suited the dress I wore, much less the air of the ongoing party.
"... It's fine," I sighed, dragging my feet back to the living room.
What wasn't too fine, however, was the earful I gave that woman right after she got off of me. I am too on edge today... It's not like she did it on purpose...
Reaching the living room, my ears were numb to the sounds, and my eyes were out of focus. But I saw her. The redhead on my couch was shouting at me from across the room. The words barely reached me over the blasting music. "Is... kay?!"
I frowned, trying to read her lips. "IS HOLLY OKAY!?"
I did not feel like screaming back. Or going over to her and getting a whiff of the stench around her and those guys on the couch.
But... She brought wine. I have to.
Assuming Holly was the chick who ruined my bathroom floor, I answered, "She's crying in the bathroom right now!"
"Oh..." She frowned, getting off the guy she was sitting on.
I smiled, professionally. Then I turned away, letting it drop as I pulled out my phone.
1 a.m... It's been 1 am since yesterday, can time be any slower?
I lifted my head, barely noticing that the redhead walked past me, heading to where Holly was. I straightened my back, taking in a deep breath as I scanned the room.
I sighed, long and deep.
Loud music blasted through the entire place, making the walls vibrate. The lights were dim; I don't know who it was that brought party lights, but someone did, and I needed to talk to them about it. The entire place reeked of sweat and alcohol. And the police have surely been called on us by now.
Assessing the current situation, I was aware of a messy bathroom floor, a ruined coat, a dozen people I didn't know clouding my personal space, and an apartment (mine) that seemed more akin to a damn circus.
All hell had broken loose inside my apartment, and I could barely remember how it all began.
God. If only I could kick everyone out...
Yet I couldn't. Because the one responsible for this absolute fucking mess was none other than me. My fucking self.
"Hey," I felt a hand on my shoulder, sending chills down my spine. I instinctively stepped back, disconnecting their hand from my shoulder. I turned to them, clenching my fists as I maintained a neutral expression.
"Are you really okay with this?" The person asked. He was another unrecognizable invitee.
I frowned a tad, trying to put him into focus. The sensation of his palm on my shoulder caused me a sudden need to throw up.
"Hm? What's up?" I mustered up a pleasant expression, balling my hands into fists.
"I heard your mom died yesterday."
I blinked.
The sound of the music blasting seemed to fade, and his expression came into focus.
Something inside my chest shrank.
"Are you really okay with this shitshow?" He pointed to the entire room with his chin. I don't know who he is. A dropout, I think. "Didn't you have her funeral, like... this morning?"
The stranger's words echoed through the room.
And I believed the echo was all in my head, until I realized the silence had lasted too long.
I looked around, only to find out that I had gained a quiet audience.
The music had stopped.
Everyone heard that.
All these shadowy people, whose faces were blank to my gaze, ogling me with eyes tainted in pity or judgment.
"I..." I croaked, struggling to move my hands up to cross them.
Penelope.
My eyes darted around the room. I couldn't control them.
Penelope, this is fine. I reminded myself. I only have to get through tonight. I have to.
"Of course," I said, crossing my arms over my chest, "Dwelling on sad stuff was never really my thing," I stated, trying my best at a smirk.
I hate you.
I identified a freshly opened beer can in his hand and took it with a firm hand. "Cheers to the living," I said, chugging some of the poison down.
The silence we shared as I awaited his response was crushing.
He chuckled, taking a bottle off the table. The wine bottle the redhead brought. "You're a different kind of insane, I'll give you that."
Wait, who opened that thing?
Everyone started talking again.
I sighed. Out of relief or dread, I wasn't quite sure.
I turned to the music player, hoping to turn it back on.
Suddenly, the sound of loud shattering resonated to my left. In my mother's room.
"Jake, ahaha!" A man laughed. "You clumsy idiot!"
I shoved the beer can down and hurried towards the noise, leaving the lounge and striding across the narrow corridor. The door to her room was open. I closed in, heeding whatever discovery I would be making as soon as I entered.
"Shit... I didn't do it on purpose."
The handle felt cold in my hand as I pushed it, finding two men standing by the nightstand. A girl sat cross-legged on the bed, a phone stuck to her cheek, shoes still on.
"What happened?" I said, making them turn to me. Who the fuck let you in here?
The one laughing gave his friend a mischievous grin. The latter kneeled, shuffling around with something on the ground.
"Jake broke a picture frame," He pointed down to his friend.
"Shut up..." His friend threw him an annoyed look.
"He was making fun of how you looked in this picture," he chuckled, playfully pushing his friend with his knee. "Karma got him before you did," he laughed.
A picture frame?
"Hey, Penelope, don't listen to him." The culprit stood back up, a broken wooden frame in his palms. "I would never make fun of you," He looked down, stifling a laugh.
Was there an Alder wood frame in this room? And that picture... A green-eyed kid with terribly cut bangs in a white blazer... and that woman with the big curls...
"It had a Post-it on it," The friend said, extending me the picture and a green sticky note.
"Is this... her?" Jake looked down at the photo, taking it out of the frame. He dropped the piece of textured wood and its shattered glass to the ground and handed me the picture.
This a new design. Won't you take it to your dorm and show your friends. It'll make for great advertisement, ey?
- Love, Ma
My shoulders tightened, muscles straining against the weight of something I couldn't quite name. A deep, gnawing ache that had nothing to do with my body, and everything to do with what was crumbling inside.
The frame in question was on the ground, torn into pieces. I couldn't tell what design she spoke of through its remnants. It was the last thing she made...
My hand flew to my eyes, wiping off the tears before they fell.
"Hey," one of the two extended his hand toward my shoulder. "I'll buy you a new—"
"Don't fucking touch me," I glared, the pleasant facade crumbling slowly.
My face was burning up, if I could just...
I gritted my teeth, fists tightening as I resisted an aggressive urge. I huffed, chest going up and down.
"You... You morons. Who even let you—" My voice broke, silencing my anger.
"Hey, maybe you should sit down..." I couldn't bear to see their face, but I could hear worry laced in their tone. "You're shaking..." He pointed to my hand.
The picture he handed me was crumpled inside my palm, and the latter shook so furiously...
I turned away from them, the breaths leaving my chest quickening. My senses were getting duller by the second. Every step I took seemed to echo. Everything I saw shook. Nearing the end of the corridor, every corner flickered with shadows. The music was turned on again.
I stumbled back into the thumping heart of the party—my living room.
The unrecognizable faces, the loud giggling, the water faucet running in the bathroom, the shutter sounds from my room... The room spun quicker and quicker the more breathless I became.
The chills coursing through my body were nearly paralyzing.
I turned to the speakers, shakily tearing the cable off. Upon my action, the noise slowly settled into a confused quiet. I let out a tense breath.
And smiled.
I feel like I'm going to die from this.
"Leave," I ordered. "All of you. Out."
It was a freeing order to give. But the breaths still felt stuck in my ribcage.
"What?"
"We can't hear you..."
"Everyone..." I looked around the room, eyes widening. "Get the fuck out of my house."
"Hey," the redhead tried to walk up to me. "You can't—"
"NOW!" I shouted, making her flinch. "GET. OUT!"
A single glance at my wild expression, possibly tinged with pity, was all it took to send the strangers flooding my apartment scattering.
I stood there, heaving, waiting for the air to lighten. For my mind to clear.
The clicking sound of the door closing them out loosened a tight knot in my chest. Only a little.
I gazed upon our apartment's living room.
The bookshelf was next to the sofa. Dusty and forgotten. At least that wasn't tainted. It was there... that book.
I stepped toward it, legs barely standing on my heels.
Left in their wake were scattered piles of various trash, the distant wail of a police siren, and a silence I hadn't realized I was so desperately craving.
~
A phone was vibrating on the ground. The same cold and hard ground on which I sat, legs crossed, blankly gazing at the full-length mirror hanging across the room.
I think I'm in the living room.
I looked around, noting the familiar large wooden carved plane sitting on the shelf in the corner. And to my left... This old wooden bookshelf.
Yup, I'm in my apartment. And that's me.
I watched myself through the mirror's reflection.
A lifeless thing. Sitting against a dirty sofa, under the large window through which the moonlight seeped in. Remnants of mascara stained both sides of her cheeks, red from the intense wiping of her tears. More than one strand of her short brown hair was stuck on her wet face, and forgotten on her side was a pair of beat-up black heels.
In her right hand was a bottle of red wine, half emptied. In her left hand... a broken wooden frame.
I raised my right hand, the bottle cold against my palm as it tilted toward my lips. My grip tightened, but the liquid barely seemed to touch the edge of my mind before it slipped back down my throat. I scowled, the taste bitter.
My eyes lazily scanned the room. A few hours ago, this place looked, sounded, and reeked of compelled delight.
People I barely knew charged in, clothed in black, equipped with all sorts of beverages, ready to spend a crazed night.
What the fuck was I thinking...?
Compared to the explosion of lights that this place was earlier, its current, silent, lonely state was comforting.
The phone rang again. I shot a quick glance to the side, my hand pausing mid-air as I set the bottle down with a muted thud. I reached for the phone, my fingers brushing the edge before I picked it up.
Caller: "Sad Bitch."
"Here's another one," I muttered, sliding my index finger on the screen to hang up.
6 Missed Calls
I put the phone close to my lips. "Give UP," I said and threw it back on the ground.
I sniffled, patting my puffy eyes.
"Hello?" A faint voice resonated through the room. "Penelope? Penelope, talk to me!" The voice implored.
I looked up, vision groggy. "God?" I called, eyes droopy.
My heart sank.
It can't be...
I propelled myself forward, getting on my knees. "Ma?" I called, nearly afraid of the word.
"Answer the damn phone! Please, Penny!" My shoulders dropped as I identified the voice's origin. I flopped back against the sofa, realizing I had unintentionally answered the call.
"... What do you want?" I asked, fighting the urge to hang up in her face.
"You! Penelope! Where are you!? Where did you go?!"
"Home," I stated, shaking my head in annoyance.
She's asking to reprimand me again. I can't be feeling relieved like this
"How...! No, tell me, are you okay?!"
I opened my mouth to speak. Then closed it again. I frowned, disapproving of the tears that rolled down my cheeks.
"It's because I'm drunk..." I muttered, wiping them off.
I hate that question.
"I've been knocking for so long. Why aren't you opening the door if you're home?!" She sounded aggravated—her usual self.
KNOCK KNOCK.
"... Oh," I hung up.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
"I'm coming. Stop," I mumbled, hanging onto the bookshelf to my left to stand up.
Before I turned to the entrance, my hazy gaze lingered on the spine of a certain book. A vintage cover, worn out and dusty.
With a slow blink, I toyed with the idea of breaking this shitty shelf, throwing it down and causing enough of a ruckus to make the one outside more worried. Instead, my hand reached for the book, a bitter smile on my lips. My eyes landed on the name stamped across its glossy black cover.
Wholeheartedly Yours
"This thing..." An unpleasant pang of nostalgia resonated somewhere within. The last time I recited this thing was so lon—KNOCK KNOCK.
I flinched.
Right. My unwelcome guest.
I walked to the door, noting the misplaced furniture. The walls seemed to faintly move back and forth as I made my way to the entrance, on the tips of my bare feet. I swung the door open, hardly able to keep my balance, putting on my best business smile.
"Hey," I smirked, meeting the brown gaze of my visitor. A strange warmth invaded my chest at her sight, much missed.
Harper McCullin.
My friend of 17 years, in her funky pajama pants, wearing a grey coat over it. Her brown curly hair ruffled, and her eyes pretty much as puffy as mine.
The worry dissolved from Harper's expression as she took in my appearance. Then, she stared dead into my soul.
"I know my boyfriend cheated on me with you."
<28 minutes, 45 seconds before Death>