A Throbbing head and burning throat isn't a first, neither is waking up on the cold hard tile that is the bathroom floor. Also with a shirt stained in possibly vomit(note to self never try a keystone with xan ever again) Honestly that was the best sleep I've had all week, which doesn't mean much anyway. I'm always tired, despite just waking up I could probably sleep for hours, or forever.

The Air is so cold I feel like glass stiff and fragile, there's a smell of beer permeating the air overpowering even the vomit’s stench. It's dark, and the only light is the flash of my phone as it receives an onslaught of notifications. I silence the phone and shoot off a mass text of I’m fine, at a friend's. I get up groggily flinching as the cold meets jostled uncovered skin, flipping the light switch on I brace myself against the sink gripping its sides as my head pounds behind my eyes and nose. Groaning I slowly open my eyelids carefully, letting them adjust to the beam of light above me. Vaguely I could recall last night, cheap booze, fruity daiquiris, pizza and a room full of whoever didn't give a fuck about partying away a Monday night. Shakily staring at my own face I sigh and tremble a bit, chanting your fine, were fine. I'm fine. I calm myself down planning out the rest of my whole day; what I'll wear, say and do most of which involves more alcohol than people. Spotting a toppled bottle I drain the rest of it in an attempt to quench my burning throat, “asinine I know but hey I'm like the teenage poster for self-destruction,” I joke, no one laughs, but I know I'm funny anyway.

Splashing my face in the water, I inhale and exhale before opening the bathroom door and climb over passed out strung out teenagers sleeping on the stairs, not that I blame them sobriety is overrated and I am laughably underrated.

The house is a disaster; empty bottles everywhere, broken glass and a fucking pizza box on the ceiling fan. Mom is gonna kill me, not that I care ill die anyway regardless of mom or pizza boxes. Staring at the box menacingly I relinquish my glare and make my way toward the Patio doors, slumping against the glass sliding door I fumble in my pockets for a smoke, desperately trying to maintain an air of cool for these passed out kids and not look like I'm scratching myself under these jeans. After finally getting one I light it and drag it to my lips, the smoke covering my cold lungs in a blanket of warmth and melting away my headache. The pungent taste of nicotine and ash soothing any lingering anxiety the alcohol and chanting didn't stamp.

My Pleasant hazy nicotine rush is interrupted as something catches my eye outside.

The cold returns like ice water being spilled on my head and my heart plunges into my stomach.

“There’s a dead girl in the pool,” I say it like this isn't just a dream that I can easily escape. Oh wait, nevermind.

My eyes widen and my heart hammers its way back to my chest, beating in tandem to my lungs. “THERE'S A DEAD GIRL IN THE POOL!” I scream, sliding the doors open scrambling outside. Behind me is a chorus of drunks gathering their belongings and some staring at me like there isn't a fucking dead girl in the pool.

I jump in the pool cringe as the chlorine water burning my eyes and throat worse than the vodka.

My heart is doing flip flops mirroring me as I flail frantically in the cold water, its embrace surging and battle against my skin as I try and find some distance from the water, in a pool.

Some dude finally decided to stop filming and pulls me out of the water. I deck him and crawl away from the pool, away from the dead girl in the pool. But I can't.

Tears and water streaming like a river on my face sobbing I wail” there's a dead girl in the pool.”

"There's a dead girl in the pool."

"There's a dead girl in the pool."

"There's a dead girl in the pool."