PSA: READ THE BOOK CARRY ON BY RAINBOW ROWELL IF YOU WANT AN AMAZING STORY TO OBSESS OVER! It's literally sooo good I've read it three times lol

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It's funny, how many times I wake up in my room and have no idea how I got here.

The space is quiet and still. None of the comforting morning light that I love so much is floating in, like it does on my usual mornings. The shades must be drawn. My head is pounding, so I rub my fingers over my temples to sooth the throbbing pain. I look over to the digital clock that sits on the nightstand. 1 pm.

I roll over with a sleepy groan, not really wanting to get up. Just then my stomach growls so hard it hurts, so I force myself to sit up. I'm still in the black strapless dress that I wore all day yesterday. It's cutting into my chest, leaving a red line where the top ends. I stand up and unzip it, letting it slip down my waist and onto the ground.

Naked, I walk to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. I look like a complete mess, like I'd spent the night running through the forest with a group of murderous men chasing me. Maybe I did, I can't really remember.

The skin around my eyes is gray. My eyes glimmer; even my eyelids feel exhausted. My mouth is puffy, my eyebrows are unplucked. Now that I'm looking at it, my waist looks smaller, and my skin is paler than usual. My gaze runs over the whole of my body. I look like a whole different person, and for the most part, not in a good way.

A tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away fast.

I'm fine. This is fine. I look fine.

I turn around and turn the shower on cold. I stand underneath the stream of water, letting the steady downpour of liquid wash away not only the dirt on my skin, but also all of the emotions and hopes and sins that I've held in for all too long.

It's like a vault in my chest has opened. A vault that held all of the sadness, the anger, the confusion. My chest aches, like someone punched me hard in the ribs. Tears are forming from my eyes like a river, mingling with the water from the shower and following it into the drain. Everything let out, everything washed down. The crying is only making my head hurt even more, but I can't stop crying now. I try to ignore the throbbing in my skull.

I'm all alone. I'm dead. My family, friends, future... everything is gone. Just like the water flowing into the shower drain. Gone. I feel my legs trembling, so I sit down on the floor of the bath, bringing my knees up to my forehead and wrapping my arms around my legs to hold them in place. My body shakes with uncontrollable sobs. I can't hold it in anymore. So it's coming out.

I cry until my throat is sore and my eyes are red and burning. I twist the water off, open the shower curtain, and grab a fresh, dry towel. Patting myself off, I step out onto the white tiles of the bathroom. Once again, my eyes find my reflection in the mirror. Ugh.

When I walk back out into the main area of my room, I see something on the kitchen counter that wasn't there before. I walk over to the strange pile of objects - clothes. There is a hot pink sticky note on the top. In messy black handwriting, it reads:

Something to cover yourself with, Barbie bitch.

I almost laugh, but my chest feels so empty and cramped that I barely have enough power to breathe. My lungs very well may collapse if I take too deep of a yawn.

Angel must have brought me these. He's the only person (not person... demon) who would call me Barbie bitch. Why, though? Angel isn't the type of person to go out of his way to do something nice for someone.

Wait a minute.

Suddenly, memories from last night come flooding into my brain like a vicious wave breaking through a dam. Smoking with Husk. Giggling nonstop. My tongue going numb from the high. Angel making out with Husk. Angel leaving with him. Drinking with Vaggie and Charlie. Vaggie touching me. Vaggie stripping. Charlie walking outside with me. Puking my brains out on the street. It's like an entire life being flashed before my eyes.

Jesus.

Blinking a few times and pinching the bridge of my nose makes them go away.

Weird how Angel brought me clothes. Very weird.

I decide to put them on. It's not like I have anything else to wear. It's a red skin-tight dress with tank top sleeves and a bottom that stops just under my ass. To go with it, there are midnight black, elbow length gloves and fishnet tights. I get everything on easily. The clothes aren't too tight, probably because I'm so skinny, so they come on nicely. I also manage to zip the back of the dress up by myself, which is a huge achievement for me.

Walking into the bathroom, I brush my hair down with the brush Charlie gifted me yesterday. I look better, I guess. More trendy compared to everything these demon-people-things are wearing down here. Splashing my face with water freshens my skin up, making me look a little less tired and a little less sad.

Makeup would be really great right about now.

My eyes are still red - eyedrops never hurt anybody - and, although my eyelashes are naturally long, they look better with mascara. And concealer would fix my under-eye mess right up.

Whatever.

I put my heels on and walk to the foyer. I take the stairs instead of the elevator, just for a change of scenery. I see that mean lady Mimzy and Alastor (together, of course) and walk past the both of them. Alastor makes eye contact with me, a big grin spread on his face like butter on bread. Once he sees the look on my face, his grin gets slightly smaller. Ignoring him and his psycho girlfriend, I make my way to the bar. Smoothing my dress down, I sit at a bar stool and hold my head in my hands, looking down at the fine polished wood of the counter top. Husk stands behind the counter, drinking straight from a large bottle of vodka. He walks over to me with the bottle in his hand, but says nothing. I don't say anything back. The sad choking feeling is back in my throat and if I try to talk, my words will just stumble over one another and make me sound like a croaking frog.

Something is set down in front of me, shaking me from my dazed thought train. I look up to see a shot glass full of clear liquid, probably vodka. Beside it, a bar of dark chocolate.

Downing the shot, I slide the chocolate closer to me as if to claim it as my property.

"I don't normally ask people this, but are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I, well, croak.

"Are you fine?"

I look at his face. Long red eyebrows lifted with genuine concern. Lips pulled back slightly to reveal sharp white teeth. Husk is a being of closed emotions. I know this by the way he talks and holds himself, defensive and irritated, hidden behind a mask of alcohol. (If I'm going to talk to anyone, it might as well be him.)

"No," I admit with a deep sigh. My lungs hurt, probably from smoking last night. That was the first time I've smoked in a month or so. "I don't know."

I'm at that point of sadness where everything is slow and I don't have enough motivation to even talk. Maybe I'm just tired and slightly hungover, or maybe I really am depressed.

I'm dead, that's for sure.

When I look back him, he's set the vodka down and is looking past me into the distance. I can't help but see him with Angel, and the thought is really bothering me. Picking up the bar of candy, I start to pull the plastic open without looking at the amount of sugar. My gloves are too slippery and prevent me from unwrapping it, so I take them off and try again.

"Sorry for being all depressed," I say, breaking a block of chocolate off with my fingers.

He rolls his eyes. "Don't apologize, it's pathetic. Everyone in Hell is depressed. Some just hide it better than others."

I chew on my bar. Was he talking about himself, or someone else? He looks like someone who could get sad, but not crying sad. Husk looks like he gets the deep chest type of sad and doesn't show it.

I wonder if him and Angel are close.

Looking down at his hand, Husk grabs the bottle of vodka tight. "You work here now, right? Mind the bar for me, I'm going for a walk." He leaves, taking the vodka with him. I watch him walk away for a moment, finishing my chocolate, then walk through the swinging gate to get behind the bar and take his place.

I've never been on this side of a bar before. It's nice. Cluttered. I grab a bottle of rum and examine it, just to look busy.

After a few minutes, I hear someone approach the bar from behind me. "Hey sexy," someone says from behind me. I turn to see Angel Dust sitting at a bar stool, two arms folded behind his back and two crossed over the counter.

"Oh hey," I greet him. "Some bitch with bad taste brought me these rags," I explain, motioning to the red dress.

Angel scoffs. "Rags? Those are the sexiest clothes anyone in this whole fucking estate is wearing! An ogre like you doesn't deserve to wear something that nice."

"Did you just complement me?"

"No, I called you an ogre. Well, I guess that is a complement, for you."

I roll my eyes, grinning.

"It was you though, right? Who snuck into my room while I was showering?"

"Of course it was me. Who else calls you Barbie?"

"Your dad calls me Barbie," I say. It was meant to be a silly and immature joke, but Angel seems to have taken the mention of his dad the wrong way. The teasing smile disappears from his face like a rabbit into a hat. Setting my hands on the counter softly, I bite my lip and search his fading face for an answer.

"Oh," I breathe. "I'm sorry."

Angel chuckles, but it lacks his usual humor. "No, no. There's nothing to say sorry for."

The bar grows silent, so I do what any good bartender would do: pour a drink. Taking the bottle of Captain Morgan's spiced peach rum - my favorite - I pour two good-sized glasses, one for each of us. It slide over the counter smoothy and stops right in front him. "Hey, bad bitch. Have a drink with me."I raise my glass.

"I was wondering when you were going to get me something to drink," he says, raising his cup to clink mine.

We drink.

"You know what you need to do? You need to get slutty. There are some damn horny guys that would love to get a girl like you in bed," he says.

"Ew. If you weren't gay, I might think you were a serious pedophile."

He laughs. "Maybe I am."