Jillie's Cry

Ethan groaned. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls and someone was using it for a drum solo. Every little creak of the floorboards sent a fresh wave of pain through him. He peeked open one eye, wincing at the sudden stab of light. Memories flickered back, fuzzy and messed up: bad booze, his not-so-great friends pushing drinks on him, a feeling of something not being right.

He sat up, only to regret it instantly. The room spun like a carnival ride gone haywire. Empty beer cans and crumpled napkins were everywhere, like the aftermath of a messy party. Bodies were sprawled out on couches, chairs, and even the floor - his "friends" apparently zonked out.

Ugh. This wasn't exactly the goodbye party he had in mind. He stumbled towards the kitchen, desperate for something normal. A half-eaten bag of chips sat sadly on the counter, next to a sticky puddle of who-knows-what. He chugged down glass after glass of water, hoping to wash away the throbbing in his head.

Reaching for the doorknob, a scary image popped into his head. A fight, a muffled cry, a look of terror on a girl's face. Jillie? Was that Jillie? Panic jolted him awake, pushing away the fuzziness in his brain. He kinda remembered Stephen's group taking her somewhere earlier. Did something bad happen?

He wanted to check, to make sure she was okay. But his head felt like it was gonna explode and the thought of facing his "friends" now, with their likely mocking laughter, made him freeze.

With a final grimace, Ethan pushed open the front door, the sound echoing through the quiet house. Outside, the familiar street looked strange in the bright morning light. He took a deep breath, the fresh air a welcome change from the stale beer smell inside.