Ok, I've come down.

I thought I wouldn't. I thought that was the end, I thought I'd be up there in the clouds looking over everyone else but now all I want is a hot shower and a doner kebab.

My eyes blink open and I don't know where I am. It's all magnolia walls and clean carpet and my clothes, my clothes are strewn everywhere, like they were flung and tossed and chucked as far away from me as possible. I'm lying on my back in a huge bed, looking up at the ceiling where a light dangles with a sock hanging from it.

But not my sock.

A heavy breathe smacks my cheek and I turn and I'm face to face with Parker Watts. He's incredibly close, his eyes closed in a deep sleep, his lips puckered as if I might kiss him awake.

The memories come crashing back; completely smashed and entangled with Parker Watts in a bed that's not mine, but acting like it is. The door locked with the music downstairs thumping in my ears, never ending, never quietening down. And Parker, smirking at me like I'm a fucking conquest, which I guess I am.

I sit up with a start, careful not to wake him; I can't be doing with that right now. How would he feel? I feel like what happened was the opposite of what I wanted. I can't remember making the decision to sleep with him, whether or not I found him even attractive or not. My head still spins though, and I see the open door to the bathroom across the room.

I take his draped arm from my torso and part of the covers fall back to reveal him, completely naked, lying on his stomach. I take back the previous statement; I am very attracted to him.

I pad into the bathroom, collecting clothes as I go and dressing before splashing water over my face. I think about vomiting, I think about leaving this place with my sick in the toilet.

Fuck, I'm such a delight.

Instead, I stand in the doorway and watch the rise and fall of Parker Watts chest as he turns over, swallowing in his sleep making his jaw line move and his adam's apple bob. I think about crawling back into bed, maybe waking him up.

"Sorry mate." I say to him, but also to myself.

.....

I'm a boy, I like to live in mess.

It's a stereotype that follows you around in life that, because you've got a dick, you like to live in a fucking shit tip. Well, for me, it's kind of true. I'm not too bothered with cleaning, I'd much rather play on the Playstation or play music, or you know, wank. But this mansion that I'm now walking through, like a real life million dollar labyrinth, is fucking disgusting.

I have never seen so much crap in all my life.

I don't know whether or not everyone else trashed the place when Parker and I left for the evening, but it certainly looks that way.

I'm glad I have my shoes, because I could very well stand on some disease ridden glass and loose both my legs to gangrene. That could very well happen this morning and I'm not risking it.

I pass people lounging on sofas and on tables and even just on the floor. Just lying there, having a swell time unconscious, lying in their own sick.

I find a familiar room, one with a fireplace and couches and a bar but they all look that same to me, and pass one couch with a sleeping guy, and I'm quiet not to wake him.

Until he grabs my leg.

"Shit!" I shout in a whisper, as if I've just been claimed by a zombie.

"Scottie?" The faint sound of a British accent rings through the room, and my eyes focus on Oliver, lying there, not as peaceful as when he wakes from his own bed. His hair is mussed, sticking out in ridiculous places, and his shirt has deep alcohol stains on it. Blankets and pillows are draped over him as if he created himself a fort last night, beer bottles surrounding him on the floor.

"Yeah mate, it's me." His grip isn't as soft as it was on the bus, so long ago it feels, but it's still welcoming. I crouch down to him, and his hand moves from my leg to cup the side of my face – which now feels like it's on fire.

I'm gunna go up in flames with the way he's staring up at me so helplessly, like he's woken up on another planet, in another galaxy. His eyes are wide, staring into mine.

"Where are we?"

I laugh before I even answer. "America."

He laughs too. "Smart-arse. But I like it that way."

Whatever happened before, I can't even remember. Oliver's touch has erased it, and he's back in my orbit. I think about planting one on him, right here, right now.

"Where were you last night?"

"Uuuugh..." Off my face. Fucking Parker Watts. Being angry at you. Drowning my sorrows in booze. Take your pick. "I fell asleep in one of the bedrooms." It's not a lie, I did fall asleep in one of the bedrooms, just after...other things.

"What time is it?"

"Christ, you're full of questions this morning."

"I think we all are."

I pull out my phone. "It's half 9." Oliver's eyes widen. "What?"

"We have rehearsals. At 10."

Time freezes. I think of Mitch Simmons, burying our bodies. Shit.

But as both Oliver and I begin to panic, him standing and rummaging for his shoes, his jacket, there's a scream, and Candice appears in the doorway.

"It's Luke! He's not waking up!"

.....

I don't register what Candice says at first.

Her words are shaky, tears streaming down her face in sheer panic. Her makeup's blotchy, her hoodie hanging off one shoulder. She doesn't wait for us, not for me, not for her boyfriend whose hand is still caressing my cheek as if I've just woken him with a kiss, like in a fairytale.

She runs down the hall and we follow, albeit slower. Oliver's clutching his head like it might fall off, and my knees feel rough and ready to break. Candice sharply turns into a bedroom that I didn't even know existed (there are parts of this whole fucking house that I didn't know existed) and there's Luke, a heap of sheets and pillows, lying on the floor.

"I was looking for you all, and saw him in here." She's clutching her phone with both hands, shaking violently. "He just won't wake up. I've tried everything..."

"Have you tried punching him in the face?" Demitri appears, as if out of thin air, smoking a cigarette behind us. "A good kick in the ribs?"

"Demi," His sister frowns at him, but her voice is still uneasy, keeping an eye on Luke, whose skin is glistening.

I don't mean to glance at the bed side table, or the floor, or Luke Cartwright's nose, dried blood crusting under his nostrils. Apparently I can't look anywhere without seeing suggestions that Luke's a fucking user. I pray to whoever's up there that I don't come across a needle.

"I'll do it." Oliver pipes up for the first time since we got here, his mind spaced but his eyes on Luke, like he's staring at a corpse. Please, God, no.

"You can't punch him in the face!" Candice shouts, twirling her hair anxiously.

"I'm not going to." Oliver replies quietly, before leaving for a moment. When he returns, he has a large glass of water. "I'm guessing you didn't try this?" They don't talk as if they're in love, but I push the giddiness down.

Especially when Oliver chucks the entire contents of the glass onto Luke's face.

Luke jolts with a start, sitting up like a zombie risen from the dead. Candice squeals in shock and grabs Oliver's arm, and he puts it around her shoulder. My giddiness is gone.

Luke's eyes are bigger than the fucking sun; pupils dilated like black holes that suck everything and anything good in this world. He gulps for air, scratches at his arms and at his head, before bursting into a fit of laughter.

"Jesus Christ, Luke." Demitri shakes his head, the calmest of us all. It's only then that Luke notices that we're there, and is startled by our presence. We've formed a half moon around him, sat on the floor like a scolded child. He looks at each of us, wiping his wet face from droplets, before his eyes rest on the empty glass in Oliver's hand.

Luke jumps up and grabs it, throwing it at the wall as it smashes with a sound so cacophonic, I think my ear drums might fucking explode. He grabs Oliver by the lapels and tries to lift him up, but Oliver's clearly taller than Luke, who tries his best by getting on his tip-toes.

"What the fuck was that for, dick head!?"

"We thought you were dead!" Oliver wrestles with him, trying to get out of his grip. "Next time I'll just leave you to fucking O.D, shall I?"

"Enough!" Never mind my eardrums, my head might fucking explode from all the noise. I think of Parker, peacefully sleeping down the hall. My heart beats faster at the thought of him waking up to the sound of this, of anyone waking up to the sound of Purple Envy waking up their lead singer from a heavy night of drugs and alcohol.

I prize them off each other, getting in between them. "Oliver's right, OK? Candice found you and you looked half dead, alright? Don't punish us for fucking caring!"

Luke's eyes glide to Candice, eyes on the floor with her arms crossed in some sort of guilt, but I don't know what. And then, he looks back to me, eyes resting on my gaze. He sniffs harshly, and then takes his hands of Oliver, who gives him a hard shove. Luke rests his hands on my shoulders and I'm gently holding him steady.

"Oh Scottie, Scottie, Scottie, Scottie." On the last 'Scottie', he puts on a bad American accent, one that I've had enough of around here, and begins to laugh. "I think we're late for rehearsals, don't you?"