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 absolutely disrespectful.

I get that. But, I honestly don't care enough to stop.

I was dragging a drunk blonde woman whose name I can barely remember to the bathroom (so she wouldn't puke on my sofa), tightly holding her arm, when I recognized a silhouette at the end of the hall. "Hey, Penelope, someone's knocking!"

"My hands are full, as you can see," I stated. "You get it instead," I ordered, raising a hand to the barely recognizable man holding a beer and standing by the entrance.

"Blerghmff-!" The woman's left hand had gone stiff, her body freezing.

"NO!" My eyes widened when her right palm flew to her lips, likely stifling her vomit. "NOT ON MY FLOOR!" I ordered, dragging her to the bathroom as fast as I could.

~

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

"... Whatever," I muttered to myself. "It's fine."

What wasn't too fine was the earful I gave that woman right after she got off me... It's not like she meant to puke on me.

No, whatever, she probably deserved it.

"Is Holly okay?!" The redhead who brought red wine yelled out.

I could barely make out what she said through the motion of her lips through the blasting music.

Let's assume Holly is the shithead that puked all over my floor.

Also, whose lap is she even sitting in? I could swear it was a completely different guy, like, two minutes ago...

"She's crying in the bathroom right now!" I communicated, checking the time on my phone.

"Oh." She cringed a tad, then went back to talking to the guy.

It was well past 1 AM.

I took in a deep breath, straightened my back, and brushed a lock of my short brown hair behind my ear as I scanned the room.

Assessing the current situation, I was aware of a messy bathroom floor, a ruined sweater, a dozen college students I barely knew clouding my space, and an apartment (mine) that seemed to have turned into a fucking circus.

All hell had broken loose inside of 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. The police have probably been called on us by now. And the number of strangers currently existing in this cramped apartment of mine was nothing short of outrageous.

God. I wish I could kick everyone the fuck out.

But that couldn't happen. 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 before 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, blankfaced.

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.

Initially, I thought the echo was all in my head. But the silence lasted for too many seconds, making me look around, only to find out that I had gained a quiet audience.

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 as I grabbed the wine bottle the redhead brought along 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 of relief. I turned to the music player, hoping to turn it back on. But suddenly, the sound of loud shattering resonated to my left.

In my mother's room.

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

Intuitively, I headed towards the noise. I left the lounge and strode across the narrow corridor, noticing that the door to the room was slightly open. I closed in, heeding whatever discovery I would be making as soon as I opened the door wider.

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

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

"What happened?" I walked in, making them both turn to me.

And who the fuck let them in here?

The one laughing was looking at his friend with a mischievous grin, while the latter was kneeling, 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.

There was 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

I felt my shoulders tightening, my 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 could barely even tell what design she spoke of through its remnants.

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

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

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

"You fucking moron!" I yelled. "How could you bre—!?" My voice broke, silencing my anger. I huffed, chest going up and down.

"Hey, maybe you should sit down for a bit," The friend looked at me with worry. "You're, like, shaking..." He pointed to my hand.

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

Throwing the two warning glares, I turned away from them. The breaths leaving my chest were quickening, and my senses were getting duller by the second.

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

"Who turned off the music!?" Someone yelled from the living room, turning it back on.

"Anyway," the girl sitting crosslegged on my mother's bed, shoes still on, continued talking on her phone. "Of course, I told him to come..."

I made my way out, 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, which had me throw a dizzy look towards it, only to see a woman sitting on my bed, taking selfies with the wooden figurine collection I made everyone swear not to touch all towering on her lap.

Standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by waves of noise, the room was spinning 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, both the speakers and the attendees went quiet. I let out a tense breath, shakily looking up at everyone whose gaze landed on me in confusion.

"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 got off the couch, trying to walk up to me. "You can't just—"

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE," I yelled, 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 on the wall across the room. 

I think I'm in the living room.

I looked around, noticing 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, sitting 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. Her newly curled neck-length brown hair had gone back to its straight form, with more than one strand stuck to the tears wetting the two sides of her face, and to her left were 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, but it wasn’t enough. It never was.

My eyes lazily scanned the room for the umpteenth time. Just a few hours ago, this place looked, sounded, and reeked of compelled delight.

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

What the fuck was I thinking...?

Compared to the explosion of lights and clangor that this place had been earlier, its silent, shadowy, and lonely state now was much more comforting.

The phone rang again. I shot a quick glance to the side, my hand pausing midair as I set the bottle down with a muted thud. Reluctantly, 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 phone to hang up.

6 Missed Calls

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

I sniffled, patting my puffy eyes and tucking the short hairs stuck on my cheeks behind my ear.

"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.

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

"Answer the damn phone...! Please!"

My shoulders dropped as I identified the voice's origin, and I 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.

Right. It wasn't because of the warmth that had invaded 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—just her usual self.

KNOCK KNOCK.

"Oh." I hung up the phone.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

"I'm coming. Chill." I mumbled, helping myself stand by hanging onto the bookshelf to my left.

A certain book spine caught my hazy gaze. A vintage cover, dusty and terribly 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 as my eyes landed on the name stamped across its glossy black cover.

Wholeheartedly Yours.

Despite my wobbly vision, I could still comprehend the font.

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

The last time I recited this thing was so long ag—

KNOCK KNOCK.

I flinched.

Right. My unwelcome guest.

The furniture, now misplaced thanks to bad decisions, looked 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, barely 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.