The pounding in my head wakes me, and nausea makes me run for the bathroom. The liquor comes up and the vile taste of vomit almost makes it impossible to hold my guts inside my stomach. How I wish I could remove them.
Never again, I think to myself as I lean against the toilet holding on to the cool porcelain for dear life. Of course, I've said the exact same thing before even if it has been years.
About five minutes later, I walk from the bathroom feeling somewhat reborn after my purge and search the bedroom for signs of King. Though I threw back the covers when I ran to the bathroom, there's still an indent where King sat on the bed last night. It wasn't a dream.
Darn, that's not good.
I think I asked him to have s*x with me.
I think I need to dig a very big hole and bury myself in
