Sloan Waters

I awoke to the sound of dripping water and the rancid smell of puke. My eyes were still closed, but I could feel my sticky, rejected left-overs squished between my cheek and the floor. Waking up with your face in your own throw-up is pretty disgusting, but not having the energy to get up and wash it off is even worse. My lips were cracked and dry and my head felt like a thousand knives were being jabbed into it. I could already feel that this was going to be a great day..
I finally managed to sit up, my eyes still closed. I sat there in the middle of the floor for about ten minutes until the persistant sound of dripping water began to feed my growing headache. I opened my eyes and pulled myslef into a standing position. The noise that my leaky kitchen faucet was making kept me from cleaning up the mess on my floor.
My kitchen counter was littered with various papers, empty beer cans and wine bottles. I ignored this mess and headed straight for the sink. As I tightened the water knob, I decided that I needed a cigarette.
After about five minutes of searching through the various mounts of bottle caps, I found my lighter and lit my last cigarette.
I inhale....heaven.
I made my way over to my torn-up couch and collapse, taking in another breath of smoke.
That is when I catch a glance at my bare wrist. I usually have on long-sleeves but this morning I happened to wake up in a T-shirt...which I really needed to change out of.
My wrist is tattooed with various scars, some thick, some thin, some jagged, some straight. They are all the color of white, the new skin only raised just slightly. My newest cut just beginning to form a scab.
I take in another breath and cover my wrist with my other hand. I lean back on my couch and clos my eyes. Instantly, I see his face.
He is vivid; he looks so real I want to reach out and grab him.
I take another puff of my cigarette.
He is still there...smiling.
When I open my eyes, though, he vanishes, leaving me alone on my beat-up couch with my throw-up in my hair and scars on my wrist.
At this painful realization, I throw my cigarette butt onto the floor and smush it with my bare foot.