18
I can smell bacon. Mum must be making breakfast. Is it Sunday already? Feels more like a Monday though. Haven’t had bacon in months. Forgot how good it smells. Even better than it tastes. Dad must have insisted on bacon, even though the doctor told him to lay off the fatty foods. He says it’s the good cholesterol that’s high with him, not the bad kind. Whatever the hell that means.
I should get up in a minute. I’m sure Mum’s been calling me. But it’s Sunday. At least let me sleep in a little. It’s only fair. That’s why God invented Sundays—a day to sleep off hangovers.
Did I go out drinking last night?
Must have. Why else would my head be so fuzzy? Must have been a good night if I can’t remember even going out. Those nights are always the best.
I try to pry my stinging eyes open. I
