Title: Touchin' On My
Summary: Last night was a blur. It was also taped.
Disclaimer:Again, own nothing.
Couples: Michi, Sorato, Kari/Tk/Davis, & more.
Note: It's been so long. I hope everyone's well! I apologize to everyone who is expecting updates and who have been expecting updates for the longest time. I'm going to be honest with you all, I lost inspiration. I hardly had time to write, still don't have much time on my hands, but I'm going to try and do the best that I can, write as much as I can. I've been watching new shows and listening to heaps of songs to concentrate and get creative. It's gradually helping! If anyone's still interested in my stories, I will finish them. I've had "Fade to Black" planned out from the beginning and it's shameful if I don't finish it. Anyway, I know you're wondering "why are you writing this?" Well, to kill my writer's block, I have to write something. And since my latest obsession with the British show "Skins," this story wouldn't leave me alone. I'll just play around with this story so it will spark further inspiration to update everything else. I think it will. Love you all!
Title is inspired by the 3OH!3 song "Touchin' On My."
At approximately nine, a half an hour after the sun had set and the moon made it's appearance in the summer night sky, young bodies crowded around the closed doors of an abnormally structured mansion, all eagerly waiting for the darkness, music, and smell of booze to pull them in and consume them to the point of exhaustion.
It was someone's eighteenth birthday and they had invited practically everyone from school. Some people they knew, but most people they either hardly talked to or didn't even know at all. It didn't matter though, because it was bound to happen that way. Their mother abandoned the home, leaving due to an emergency at work and wasn't due back until the following week, which ultimately called for a large social gathering.
Word has it, things got out of control by eleven and so forth. The large crowd could not be tamed and the entire thing was one hell of a party. One wonderful night. How unfortunate that no-one could remember it…
At approximately eight, two hours after the sun had risen from its noisy slumber, annoyed by the ruckus from last night and partially sleep-deprived because of the night, a young girl, about sixteen years of age, stirred in her sleep. She was interrupted by the moist cold feeling of water hitting her hard ankle. At first she dismissed the feeling and believed she was dreaming, associating that the droplets hitting her ankle were just cold fingers grazing her skin (she groaned in pleasure). But when the feeling would continue to linger, she started to feel slightly annoyed.
"Fuck off," she would mutter under her breath quietly to no-one in particular, maybe just to the fingers she felt were too damn stubborn or curious and wouldn't leave her alone. "I said," her eyes slowly opened and she pushed herself up, "fuck o-" she stopped mid sentence and realized no-one was there. The cold wet sensation was water escaping from the leaking faucet mounted on the bathtub. In a daze, fully confused and feeling like she might easily fall back down because of the throbbing pain rising on the side of her left temple, she found herself sitting in a bathtub, the same place she had found shelter in the entire night. Turning her head to her right, the young girl noticed she was not alone in that unfamiliar bathroom. Four other bodies, people she did not recognize, did not even know, occupied her territory. They were all asleep, completely knocked out. And God, did they reek of alcohol. The vulgar smell entered her nostrils and she could feel it in her throat. She wrinkled her nose, swallowed hard (though her throat was insanely dry), and noticed the many bottles outstretched, scattered all over the floor. Some empty, some half full, and some broken. Pink lipstick stained the rim of one bottle, and she noticed the labels were all too difficult to read, as the bottles were imported from a foreign country.
With long fingers, she clutched the side of her head that pulsed uncomfortably. What the hell happened? What happened to her? To all these people? In all honesty, as she tried to gather herself together, to train her mind to remember what happened the previous night, she constantly drew a blank and couldn't remember anything. Not one thing. It troubled her and the stressfulness of the situation was not helping to ease the sharp pain in her head either.
Close your eyes and relax. She thought it would help, even magically bring her back home if she squeezed them tight enough and imagined her bed. Pretending as if all this hadn't happened and she was only dreaming, or having a terrible terrible nightmare. The thought was calming and it would have been perfect if only she hadn't laid eyes on the taunting faucet when she opened her eyes.
The faucet only reminded her of the mess she was now in. That, and the drunken bodies which lay unconscious under her.
Confused and desperate, she watched the water building up under the faucet and followed it as a droplet hit her ankle yet again for the hundredth time. As it rolled down her skin to the tub's surface, creating a vain shaped line along her skin, she reached to rub it off and stood up. The rise felt heavy and her legs trembled below her, but she stepped over the side of the now unoccupied tub and walked over to the mirror with shaking legs. She had to get out of there, to search for clues, maybe even ask someone outside that bathroom door what happened, do anything, so long as she found answers. But first, she really wanted to catch a glimpse of her reflection, to make sure her face was still intact. As strange as it sounded, she was curious and scared all at the same time.
Though she expected to see worse, to compliment the shitty condition she was in, nothing changed. At least it wasn't a dramatic change. Of course her hair was ridiculously tossed all over the place. A huge bird's nest. Her brown locks ran down to her shoulders and half of her hair was now straight while the other half was still curled from the way she fashioned it before she left home yesterday (at least that she was one thing she still remembered). Her bangs were terribly greasy, very unappealing, but long enough to tuck behind her ear which she was grateful for. And as she tucked the hair away, she initially noticed the faint bruise breaking its mold upon her temple where her head still throbbed.
Grunting with complete irritation, she pulled back her bangs to hide the bruise. Greasy bangs were far better to look at than the large blue spot on her head which she could not rub off. Without doubt. She cursed the heavens for her luck and fixed up the smudged eyeliner along her eyes, rubbing the raccoon-look off her face. Reaching into her bra, she pulled out a small tube of watermelon chapstick and coated her lips with the chap, licking the corners of her mouth to swallow down that disgusting taste of alcohol lingering in her throat. Finally, with one last agonizing look in the mirror at her tired reflection, she fixed her large tank top (she arrived with a cardigan, only to realize she wasn't wearing it even as she slept), adjusted her bra straps, and pulled off her black tights from under her skirt which were now ungratefully ripped and her last pair, rolled them into a ball, and chucked them into a laundry basket on her way out.
She didn't even bother to look back before she shut the door. Why would she? She didn't know those people, and she wanted to escape the darkness, the annoying leakage, and smell as quickly as possible. She wanted out. She wanted to get some damn ice for her damn head…
But before she proceeded down the hall, she reached into her vibrating pocket to retrieve her phone and read the only text she somehow managed to ignore the entire night.
It read: "Kari, I can still taste you on my tongue."
Oh how she really needed that ice.