Arc One [12]
Author: Homer
Title: Untitled
Rating: G
Word Count: 345
He hadn’t been this hung over in almost three years.
His head felt like a marching band had moved in and started beating on his brain.
Ugh.
Alcohol was an evil, evil substance.
It took him a long moment to remember how to get up, stumbling to the hotel bathroom and staring at the mirror blearily. “You’re a mess, Peter.”
The mirror didn’t respond, red eyes staring back at him almost accusingly.
He dropped his head, turning on the sink and letting the water run before dipping his hands in to splash his face.
It didn’t help, really. Now he was just wet as well as hung over.
His phone was vibrating on the bedside table, but at the moment he was ignoring it and hoping Marco didn’t decide to track him down.
Yes it was cruel. Yes he was probably worrying them both. But, for the moment he felt entitled to sulk.
They had kept this from him. They had denied him this second chance at being a father.
“Who’d ever want you as a father anyway? They probably did that little girl a service.”
It was a good thing hotel rooms were so small; the toilet wasn’t far enough away that he missed it when he started throwing up. Scotch straight on a stomach full of coffee. Not his most brilliant idea.
Not that he’d had many of those, considering he was hung over in a random hotel room and pretending not to hear his phone starting to vibrate again.
He really was a worthless mess, wasn’t he?
He’d failed Marco. He’d failed Eva. He’d failed Nora. And now he’d failed a little girl whose name he didn’t even remember. M something, Marie maybe. He’d seen her once. He’d seen her once and hadn’t known.
His stomach was empty, but he felt like throwing up again.
Could he do anything right? Was there a right here? For Eva and Nora and Marco and the little girl?
God.
His phone started vibrating again. Peter leaned against the cool porcelain and tried to ignore it.
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Title: Untitled
Rating: G
Word Count: 345
He hadn’t been this hung over in almost three years.
His head felt like a marching band had moved in and started beating on his brain.
Ugh.
Alcohol was an evil, evil substance.
It took him a long moment to remember how to get up, stumbling to the hotel bathroom and staring at the mirror blearily. “You’re a mess, Peter.”
The mirror didn’t respond, red eyes staring back at him almost accusingly.
He dropped his head, turning on the sink and letting the water run before dipping his hands in to splash his face.
It didn’t help, really. Now he was just wet as well as hung over.
His phone was vibrating on the bedside table, but at the moment he was ignoring it and hoping Marco didn’t decide to track him down.
Yes it was cruel. Yes he was probably worrying them both. But, for the moment he felt entitled to sulk.
They had kept this from him. They had denied him this second chance at being a father.
“Who’d ever want you as a father anyway? They probably did that little girl a service.”
It was a good thing hotel rooms were so small; the toilet wasn’t far enough away that he missed it when he started throwing up. Scotch straight on a stomach full of coffee. Not his most brilliant idea.
Not that he’d had many of those, considering he was hung over in a random hotel room and pretending not to hear his phone starting to vibrate again.
He really was a worthless mess, wasn’t he?
He’d failed Marco. He’d failed Eva. He’d failed Nora. And now he’d failed a little girl whose name he didn’t even remember. M something, Marie maybe. He’d seen her once. He’d seen her once and hadn’t known.
His stomach was empty, but he felt like throwing up again.
Could he do anything right? Was there a right here? For Eva and Nora and Marco and the little girl?
God.
His phone started vibrating again. Peter leaned against the cool porcelain and tried to ignore it.
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