One could very well argue that what I was doing on a night like this was... Immoral, at best...

No. Most people would think this disrespectful.

I got that... But I didn't care enough to stop.

I was dragging a drunk blonde woman whose name I couldn't remember to the bathroom (so she wouldn't puke on my sofa). One arm over my shoulder, baby steps.

I recognized a silhouette at the end of the hall. "Hey, Penelope, someone's knocking!"

"My hands are full," I stated. "You get it instead," I requested of the unrecognizable man holding a beer and standing by the entrance.

"Blargh—!" The woman's hand went stiff on my shoulder.

"No!" My eyes widened as her right palm flew to her lips, stifling her vomit. "NOT ON MY FLOOR!" I yelled out, dragging her to the bathroom.

~

The living room had gotten chillier when I walked back into it. Probably because I had less clothing on me now. I had forsaken the sweater I wore earlier, and it was now sitting soggily in my sink, drenched in a stranger's vomit.

"... Whatever," I sighed. "It's fine."

What wasn't too fine was the earful I gave that woman right after she got off of me.

It's not like she did it on purpose.

The redhead on my couch shouted at me, but the words barely reached me over the blasting music. I frowned, trying to read her lips. 'Is Holly okay?!'

She brought wine. I should answer her.

Assuming Holly was the chick who ruined my bathroom floor, I answered. "She's crying in the bathroom right now!"

"Oh." She frowned, getting off the guy she was sitting on.

I gave her a professional smile before she looked away. I let it drop and pulled out my phone.

It's well past 1 AM.

I took in a deep breath, watching as the redhead went to check on the Holy grail. I straightened my back and brushed a lock of my short brown hair behind my ear as I scanned the room.

"Well, fuck." I muttered.

Assessing the current situation, I was aware of a messy bathroom floor, a ruined sweater, a dozen people I didn't know clouding my personal space, and an apartment (mine) that seemed more akin to a damn circus. All hell had broken loose inside my apartment, and I could barely remember how it all started.

Loud music blasted through the entire place, making the walls vibrate. The lights were dim; I don't know who it was that brought party lights, but someone did, and I needed to talk to them about it. The entire place reeked of sweat and alcohol. And the police have surely been called on us by now.

The number of strangers currently existing in this cramped apartment was stupidly outrageous.

God. If only I could kick everyone out.

Yet I couldn't. Because the one responsible for this absolute fucking mess was none other than myself.

"Hey," I felt a hand on my shoulder, sending chills down my spine. I instinctively stepped back, disconnecting their hand from my shoulder. I turned to them, clenching my fists as I maintained a neutral expression.

"Are you really okay with this?" The person asked. He was another unrecognizable invitee.

"Hm? What's up?" I mustered up a pleasant expression, hiding my lightly shivering hands behind my back.

"Your mom died yesterday." He stated, his expression a blur.

Something inside my chest shrank at the sound of his words.

"Are you okay with this shitshow?" He pointed to the entire room with his chin. "Didn't you have her funeral, like... this morning?"

The stranger's words echoed through the room.

I thought the echo was all in my head. But the silence lasted for too many seconds. I looked around, only to find out that I had gained a quiet audience. All these shadowy people, whose faces were blank to my gaze, ogling me.

The music had stopped.

Everyone heard that.

"I..." I blinked, struggling to move my hands up to cross them.

No. This is fine. I reminded myself. I'll be okay. I only have to get through tonight.

"Of course." I shared their gaze, fighting the tears rushing to my eyes. "Dwelling on sad stuff was never really my thing," I stated, trying my best at a smirk. I grabbed the wine bottle the redhead brought and banged it lightly with the can of beer the stranger held.

The silence we shared as I awaited his response was crushing.

"... Well, cheers I guess," he chuckled, gulping down the drink while I sipped straight from the bottle.

Wait, who opened this thing?

Everyone started talking again, making me sigh. I turned to the music player, hoping to turn it back on.

Suddenly, the sound of loud shattering resonated to my left.

In my mother's room.

"Jake, what the hell!" A man laughed.

I hurried towards the noise, leaving the lounge and striding across the narrow corridor. The door to the her room was open. I closed in, heeding whatever discovery I would be making as soon as I opened it wider.

"Shit. I didn't do it on purpose..."

I pushed the door, finding two men standing by the nightstand. Some girl sat cross-legged on the bed, a phone stuck to her cheek, shoes still in.

"What happened?" I said, making them turn to me.

And who the fuck let you in here?

The one laughing gave his friend a mischievous grin. The latter kneeled, shuffling around with something on the ground.

"Jake broke a picture frame." He pointed down to his friend.

"Dude..." His friend threw him an annoyed look.

"He was making fun of how you looked in this picture," he chuckled, playfully pushing his friend with his knee. "Karma got him before you did," he laughed.

A picture frame?

"Hey, Penelope, don't listen to him." The culprit stood back up, a broken wooden frame in his palms. "I would never make fun of you." He looked down, stifling a laugh.

Was there an Alder wood frame in this room? And that picture... A green-eyed kid with terribly cut bangs in a white blazer with a broken plastic stethoscope around her bruised neck, and a woman with big curls and... that expression...

"It had a Post-it on it," The friend said, extending me the picture and a green sticky note.

"Is this... her?" Jake looked down at the photo, taking it out of the frame. He dropped the piece of textured wood and its shattered glass to the ground and handed me the picture.

This a new design. Won't you take it to your dorm and show your friends. It'll make for great advertisement, ey?

- Love, Ma

My shoulders tightened, muscles straining against the weight of something I couldn’t quite name. A deep, gnawing ache that had nothing to do with my body, and everything to do with what was crumbling inside.

My hand flew to my eyes, wiping off the tears before they fell.

Crying in front of these strangers, I can't let myself be humiliated like that...

The frame in question was on the ground, torn into pieces. I couldn't tell what design she spoke of through its remnants.

"Hey," one of the two extended their hand toward my shoulder. "I'll buy you a new—"

"Don't fucking touch me." I held a palm up.

I couldn't help but glare at the guy, eyes teary and face burning up. My insides felt like they were ablaze.

"You fucking morons! Who even let you in he—" My voice broke, silencing my anger. I huffed, chest going up and down.

"Hey, you should sit down..." Though I couldn't glimpse their expression, I could hear worry laced in their tone. "You're shaking..." He pointed to my hand.

The picture he handed me was crumpled inside my palm, and the latter shook so furiously...

I turned away from them, the breaths leaving my chest quickening. My senses were getting duller by the second.

Anything I heard seemed to echo. Everything I saw was shaky.

The music was turned on again.

"Anyway," the girl sitting on my mother's bed resumed her conversation on the phone. "Of course, I told him to come..."

I left the room, traversing the corridor leading up to the living room despite how everything seemed to spin. The unrecognizable faces, the loud giggling, the water faucet running in the bathroom, the shutter sounds from my room...

I glanced over and saw a woman on my bed, taking pictures with my wooden figurines stacked on her lap—the ones I told everyone not to touch.

Standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by waves of noise, the room spinned quicker and quicker the more breathless I became.

Fuck... I want to believe that everything is fine... But this is killing me.

I made it to the speakers and tore off the cable, barely able to stand in my heels. Upon my action, everyone went quiet. I let out a tense breath, shakily looking up at the confused everyone.

"What's—"

"Leave," I tensely whispered, eyes on the ground. "Leave."

"What?"

"We can't hear you..."

"Everyone..." I looked around the room, eyes widening. "All of you. Get the fuck out of my house."

"Hey," the redhead tried to walk up to me. "You can't—"

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE," I shouted, making her flinch. "NOW!"

A single glance at my wild expression, possibly tinged with pity, was all it took to send the strangers flooding my apartment scattering. The clicking sound of the door closing them out loosened a tight knot in my chest.

Left in their wake were scattered piles of various trash, the distant wail of a police siren, and a silence I hadn’t realized I was so desperately craving.

~

A phone was vibrating on the ground. The same cold and hard ground on which I sat, legs crossed, blankly gazing at the full-length mirror hanging across the room. 

I think I'm in the living room.

I looked around, noting the familiar large wooden carved plane sitting on the shelf in the corner. And to my left... This old wooden bookshelf.

Yup, I'm in my apartment. And that's me.

I watched myself through the mirror's reflection.

A lifeless thing. She sat against a dirty sofa, under the large window through which the moonlight seeped in. Remnants of mascara stained both sides of her cheeks, red from the intense wiping of her tears. More than one strand of her short brown hair was stuck on her wet cheeks. Forgotten to her side was a pair of beat-up black heels.

In her right hand was a bottle of red wine, half emptied, and in her left hand... a broken wooden frame.

I raised my right hand, the bottle cold against my palm as it tilted toward my lips. My grip tightened, but the liquid barely seemed to touch the edge of my mind before it slipped back down my throat. I scowled, the taste bitter.

My eyes lazily scanned the room. A few hours ago, this place looked, sounded, and reeked of compelled delight.

People I barely knew charged in, clothed in black, equipped with all sorts of beverages, ready to spend a crazed night.

What the fuck was I thinking...?

Compared to the explosion of lights that this place was earlier, its current silent, lonely state was comforting.

The phone rang again. I shot a quick glance to the side, my hand pausing mid-air as I set the bottle down with a muted thud. I reached for the phone, my fingers brushing the edge before I picked it up.

Caller: "Sad Bitch."

"Here's another one," I muttered, sliding my index on the screen to hang up.

6 Missed Calls

I put the phone close to my lips. "Give UP," I said and threw it back on the ground.

I sniffled, patting my puffy eyes.

"Hello?" A faint voice resonated through the room. "Penelope? Penelope, talk to me!" The voice implored.

I looked up, vision groggy. "God?" I asked, eyes droopy.

My heart sank.

I propelled myself forward, getting on my knees. "Ma?" I called, nearly afraid of the word.

"Answer the damn phone...! Please!" My shoulders dropped as I identified the voice's origin and flopped back against the sofa.

I answered the call without meaning to. Great.

"... What do you want?" I asked, fighting the urge to hang up in her face.

"Penelope! Where are you!? Where did you go?!"

"Home," I stated, shaking my head in annoyance.

She's asking to reprimand me again. I can't be feeling relieved like this.

She doesn't deserve that.

"How...! Are you okay?!"

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words were caught in my throat. Tears slipped off of my eyes, making me shake my head.

"It's because I'm drunk..." I muttered, wiping them off.

Right. It's not because of the warmth invading my heart at the sound of her question.

"I've been knocking for so long. Why aren't you opening the door if you're home?!" She sounded aggravated—her usual self.

KNOCK KNOCK.

"Oh," I hung up.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

"I'm coming. Stop," I mumbled, hanging onto the bookshelf to my left to stand up.

A certain book spine caught my hazy gaze—a vintage cover, dusty and familiar.

With a slow blink, I hovered over the drink, toying with the idea of another sip. Instead, my hand reached for the book, a bitter chuckle escaping my lips. My eyes landed on the name stamped across its glossy black cover.

Wholeheartedly Yours.

"This thing..." An unpleasant pang of nostalgia resonated somewhere within.

The last time I recited this thing was so lon—

KNOCK KNOCK.

I flinched.

Right. My unwelcome guest.

I walked to the door, noting the misplaced furniture, shaky through my lenses. Even the walls seemed to move back and forth as I made my way to the entrance, on the tips of my bare feet.

I swung the door open, hardly able to keep my balance, putting on my best business smile.

"Hey," I grinned, meeting the brown gaze of my visitor.

Harper McCullin.

My friend of 17 years, in her funky pajama pants, wearing a grey cloak over it. Her brown curly hair ruffled, and her eyes pretty much as puffy as mine.

"I know my boyfriend cheated on me with you." She glared before I took another breath.