He shot up and jumped at his phone. Shut up, shut up! He pushed the ‘stop’ button aggressively and groaned loudly. His alarm went off automatically, every day. Also on Sunday. He would have turned it off before he went to sleep, except for the fact that he was completely and utterly drunk when he went to bed a few hours ago.
He was a light sleeper. Even when completely hung over, nothing could persuade him to stay in bed when he could also do stuff. Sundays were the only days he didn’t have any duties, anyway.
Thomas put his feet into his grandpa slippers and threw on a t-shirt. He got up and walked up to the mirror next to his closet. What was.. He looked over his shoulder. Nothing there. He must still be drunk, oh, he must certainly still be drunk, he saw. He was wearing his The Script t-shirt, a present from his ex-girlfriend, an overly excited fan of the band. Thomas wasn’t into boy bands, as he called them. He pulled the shirt back over his head and threw it on the ground. His face looked puffy and there was a huge insect on his shoulder. Wait, what the fuck? Thomas slapped wildly at his shoulder, then shook his head. There wasn’t anything there. Wake up.READ MORE