I hear something crash, and my heart stutters and I'm alert instantly.
Christian, I realize, jumping out of bed. I've not forgotten the text from Bitch Troll, but as I hurry towards our room, it's no longer important.
I open the door in a hurry, surprised to find him laying on the floor next to his garbage can. I kneel next to him, lifting his head gently. His eyes open momentarily, and he moans and squeezes them shut. He's so drunk.
"The rooms spinning," he slurs like he did earlier, only now the cute, playful, drunk Christian is gone and replaced with drunk, sick, and dizzy Christian. I brush a hand through his sweaty hair, "Feels good."
For the first time since I met him, I'm touching him and he doesn't want to instantly have sex. "Where were you tonight, Christian?" His brow furrows, as if he's thinking hard to search for the answer. He swallows, trying to open his eyes, but shuts them just as quick.
"I don't 'member," his words are slurred, and I can tell he's exhausted. Good, that's what he gets for running to Bitch Troll. He drunkenly tries to reposition himself on the floor, and ungracefully flops onto his side. It's slightly amusing, I wish I could record it. His cheek is pressed against the carpet now, mouth open and eyes shut. "Was with you?" He ventures, his lips brushing against the rug as he speaks. Anger flares in my chest, and I want to slap him. No, asshole, you ran out on me and saw your ex. I don't get a chance to respond, because suddenly he's struggling to sit up. "Sick!" Is the only warning I get and I thrust the garbage under his face just in time. Who knew Christian was a sloppy drunk? Not that I'm one to talk, my subconscious blushes at the memory of Christian coming to save me at the bar. He didn't save you, she scolds, he stalked you. I'm still mad as hell, yet I rub his back and hold his forehead.
This must have been the reason he wound up on the floor, attempting to get to the garbage can. At least he had enough sense to get off the bed! When he's done, he pushes the can away and tiredly drops back down on the floor, dead weight. "Come on, you need to be in the bathroom." I'm less than nice about trying to pull him up, and he just groans. "Get up, Christian. I'm not sitting on the floor with you all night."
"Sleep," he mumbles, as I coax him to his feet. His head hangs on his chest as we stumble to the bathroom. I'm slightly disgusted by the puke on his shirt, and I know if I wasn't angry I'd be a lot more worried. He's past drunk, he's blackout wasted. I should be curled up and fast asleep, he doesn't care about me so why do I care about him? It's dangerous to leave someone alone when they are this drunk.
He flinches at the brightness of the bathroom light and I lower him onto the side of the huge bath. He sways, nearly falling backwards before I can prop him up against the wall. Fuming with anger, I yank the buttons of his shirt free and slip it off, tossing it to the side. "Mmm," he hums, his fingers reaching for my t-shirt. I grab his wrists and put them on his lap. His head drops back with a thud against the wall, and he smiles, bursting out laughing. I pout at him, wetting a facecloth with cold water. Ignoring his strange giggles, I wipe the wet cloth across his face and neck, avoiding his chest and going down his arms. "You're beautiful," he leans forward to kiss me, I assume, and I push him back, more gentle than before.
"Christian, you're very drunk," I state, rolling my eyes when he starts laughing.
"I know, drunkin' sex," and he's laughing again. If I wasn't pissed, I'd find this so much funnier.
"Are you done throwing up?" He is staring at my boobs, grinning stupidly. "Hey, up here," I grab his cheeks and force his face up, "Are you done puking?"
He looks up, biting his lip as if I asked him the hardest question he's ever been asked. "Rooms still spinning."
I take that as a no and sit down next to him. I'm just as tired as he is. His head falls towards me and I let him balance on my shoulder, "Smell so good," he murmurs, closing his eyes.
He's quiet for a few minutes before he lunges for the toilet and throws up again. Christian throwing up is not something I ever imagined seeing, and when he's done this time he sits back and wipes his mouth. "Done." I roll my eyes again and help him to his feet. He needs my support, but he's a lot less dead weight. He collapses on the bed and I cover him again, leaving the room before he has a chance to say anything else