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“My brothers are there with my dad, dumbass. I want to see them. You always forget that I moved them out of the East End a couple of years ago. They don’t even live in Hackney anymore.”
“Christ, Dax. You guys say I’m stupid, always getting plastered and photographed for the tabloids, yet you think it’s a good idea to go hang out at an illegal fight club? You’re fucking mental. Ross will kill us if we get caught by the press.”
Dax laughs and
punches my arm. “I would have to be mental to be your mate and put up with your crap, and I couldn’t care less about the press. Plus, he’s not going to catch us.”
I can’t help but smile. We’ve been friends for so long, I can’t remember a time without him. “Yeah, you probably are mental,” I agree.
I close my eyes for the forty-minute ride and think about the real reason I hate going home. It’s not because my childhood was rotten, it’s not because my family is nothing but criminals, both of which are true. I hate coming here because home reminds me of Ellie, and the horrible way I treated her the last time I saw her. I don’t remember what I said or did, but my band sure does, and they let me know what a giant screw-up I was at that ill-fated party five years ago.
The first thing I notice is the pain. It’s so intense that it seems as if my head is in a vice as someone cranks the handle tighter and tighter. The second thing I notice is the wave of nausea that crashes over me like one of the huge ones Gavin is always surfing down at the beach.
I fly out of bed, snatch up the rubbish bin and heave my guts out into it. The pain in my head intensifies with the movement, which makes the vomiting even worse. It’s a horrific cycle that I’m stuck in for the next half hour. My stomach empties completely after the first ten minutes yet I continue to retch for twenty more. Penance for the sin of drinking too much last night, a transgression I’m all too familiar with these days.
When I’m done heaving my guts out, I somehow manage to drag my aching body to the toilet and lay down on the cool tile floor. It eases the sharp pain in my head, but not by much. Maybe if I close my eyes, I’ll fall asleep here and no one will find me until after I’m dead. Death has got to be better than the agonizing throbbing those stabs at my brain.
“Adam!”
Bloody hell, it’s Kate. I shudder and pray that she doesn’t find me. Not only is Kate extremely loud, but she won’t give a shit that I’m extraordinarily hung over.
“Adam!”
I can hear her speaking with one of my roommates, her voice getting louder and louder the longer the conversation continues. Fuck, just let me die now. It’s preferable to Kate coming in here and screaming at me, and she sounds all wound up over something.
“There you are,” she snarls from the doorway.
Her tiny foot kicks me in the leg, hard. I grunt in pain as it sends shockwaves up and down my sore body. Crap! Fucking footy player and her accurate kicking skills!
“You stupid fucking bastard!” she shouts, her voice echoing off the tiles in the tiny space, piercing my skull like a sniper’s bullets.
“Ugghhhh! Fuck off Kate. Can’t you see I’m dying here?” I groan and squeeze my eyes shut even tighter.
“Death would be too good for you,” she hisses.
I make some unintelligible noises and shift to a cool spot on the floor.
“Christ on a fucking bike, Adam. You’re useless. I’ll be back later, so you better be up and presentable.” I hear her turn and leave the room. Then I can hear her yelling at Dax some more before the door to the flat slams shut.
This must be the third circle of hell, and I’m thinking I probably deserve to be here. I slowly turn my head to lay my other cheek on the cold floor. The room spins around before I pass out.
A wet rag lands on my face with a splat, shocking me awake. “Jesus! What the hell?” I sit up and am momentarily dizzy, but not nearly as ill as I was.
“Have you been lying here since I left?”
Squinting, I look up and see Kate standing over me frowning.
“What time is it?” I ask, rubbing the back of my stiff neck.
“It’s five o’clock you thoughtless sod! Get up and meet me in the lounge. I have words to say to you,” she snaps.
“Alright, alright! Keep your knickers on.”
Her foot connects with my shin and I jolt, now fully awake. “Ow, Kate! I’m getting up!” She’s really cheesed off. Last night must have been something if I’m this ill and Kate is angry enough to come over not once but twice to yell at me.
I manage to get to my feet without vomiting or collapsing, so I take that as a good sign. Leaning over the sink, I grab the washcloth Kate threw at me and use it to wipe off my face. While brushing my teeth, I look in the mirror and freeze.
Bloody hell!
