“Morning,” I heard a familiar voice as I had my eyes half opened. And then I became fully awaked as I realized who it was, “any hangover?”

“N-No,” I managed to push myself up, “why am I here?”

“You mean you don’t remember?” his eyes grew big as he walked in and sat on the chair by the table, “you called my last night instead of Bom.”

“Ah, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine if you don’t remember, it happens. Put this on though,” he threw me a pair of shorts, “So I can disinfect your cuts,” he eyes my now dry blooded jeans. “I’m surprised you didn’t pass out after drinking all that alcohol.”

“I’ll be fine,” I forced myself up, causing a wave of pain to shoot through my left leg. Yesterday was the first time ever I cut my left leg. My mom had finally ran away, leaving me behind with my dad. All her personal things were gone, wiped out of the house. What kills me more was that I was probably the reason she left. If I had not came forward about her affair she may have still be here, she may have still played the role of my mother. But me and my stupid self just had to come forward about it.

“I’ll wait outside,” he said and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Not having much of a choice, I changed into his shorts, although they were quite big. His room was simple and neat, not as messy as I would have expected. It was almost as if he doesn’t even stay in the room much. “Are you done?” I heard him knocking at the door. I opened it to let him in and he came back in with a first aid kit. He pulled the chair towards the bed as I sat on the edge of the bed, folding up the hem of his shorts. And this was all too similar. This was how I began to open up to him, this was how he discovered my habit.

“You’re so used to it you don’t even flinch anymore, huh?” he broke my train of thought, “as bad as it is, you’re pretty pro at it, making sure not to make it deep enough to require stitches yet deep enough to leave scars.”

“I’m sorry if I did or said anything weird yesterday,” although I didn’t really remember much, I had a bad feeling I did something I was going to regret, “it was the alcohol’s doing.”

“I guess you really don’t remember, huh?” he chuckled as he finishes bandaging my thigh. “What do you mean? Did I do something?”

“Maybe? But don't worry about it,” he smiled at me and gathered all the trash, standing up to leave. “How are you feeling though?” he came back and sat on the chair.

“I’m feeling fine, I usually don’t get hangovers and my leg-“

“I meant,” he hesitated for a bit, “I meant about the whole, your mom ran away thing.” He knew? How did he know? Did I mention it or did the news spread already? And as if he read my mind, he answered me, "your call last night, you told me, thinking I was Bom."

"Ah, sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"It's fine, I'm glad you called me actually," and he gave me a warm smile, making my heart beat again. And I swear he could probably hear it if he was a bit closer.

"I-I'll be fine though," I quickly averted my thought, "I mean, it's not like it's a surprise or anything. I kind of had a feeling she was going to leave, it was just a matter of when. It'll settle in though soon." No, it wasn't going to settle in soon. I'm still in disbelief that she has left, I'm still in disbelief that her own family mattered less, and I'm still in disbelief that any of this even happened. Everything wasn't going to settle in, not any time soon.

"How is things with you and yo