Slightly longer than the last one :L, it's also just beginning to dawn on me that once all the chapters I have are up, I'll have to start writing to a better schedule, so I think I might start spacing them out a bit more, like one every couple of nights or something (because as one of my fanfic reading friends can tell you, I like to do things at a 'leisurely pace') hope that's okay :P ~ nellen x
"Ugh..." Clive groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He yawned and stretched, sitting up on the park bench he had slept on.
"Flora would kill me if she knew," he chuckled to himself as he imagined the look on her face if she found out. "Wait, no she wouldn't," he thought, biting his inner lip, "why would she care about you? You're street scum, an ex-con! She was only being nice because that's all she is!"
He groaned again, closing his eyes as his head burned painfully. The hangovers never got better, that he'd realised after his tenth. At least he thought it was his tenth, he lost count after his, well, he just did. He rummaged through his rucksack, a tired smile working its way to his lips. Popping the silver foil of the paracetamol, he reminded himself to buy more as he unscrewed the lid of his water. He pulled a face as he swallowed the pill, "well that's the headache sorted at least." Now all he had to fix was his stomach, which still ached with hunger, and his appearance. Picking up his bag and guitar, he stumbled along the path to the public toilets. The splash of ice-cold water was a shock to his sleepy system, and he frowned as he inspected his face in the mirror. Running a hand across his unshaven face, he sighed as he discovered another cut on his lip. He was never sure how he acquired those, but they bothered him all the same. His skin was worse than normal today, the combination of a night of heavy drinking and not eating well having taken its toll. He was paper white, and the dark circles beneath his eyes appeared to be larger than ever. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn't control it anymore. Drinking took away some of the pain, and although he had tried on many occasion to stop, he almost always ended the night with a bottle of something in his hand. Whiskey was a favourite of his, although it was rare he could afford it.
He could deal with hangovers though. They were nothing compared to the nights themselves.
Fights were pretty common, and he was used to being thrown out of bars for brawling on a regular basis. One night stands weren't unusual either, "one of the perks of being a singer" an inmate once said. Clive wouldn't necessarily call it a perk, although it had scored him shelter in the cold, dark winter time. He always felt guilty creeping out early the next morning, however, and tended to leave a note explaining how it "just wasn't going to work," and how he was "totally out of it" when they'd gone back to hers. He'd vowed himself to quit sleeping around the day he met Flora again, and he was doing alright with it so far. Then again, he'd also vowed to cut back the alcohol, and that wasn't going quite so well.
The boy stared at his reflection only a little while longer, chewing on a mint to take away the bad taste of morning. Gathering up his things, he headed back towards the park. He wouldn't be busking today.