Who: Newt & Lydia Martin What: Newt's hungover for the first time ever. Lydia helps? Where: Lydia, Thomas, and Newt's house. When: New Years Day, afternoon sometime (backdated) Warnings: Newt saying bloody and bemoaning life choices, but other than that, nope. Status: Closed | Incomplete
Newt had never thought the sun could look so bright... or be so offensive. Screwing his eyes shut tight, he let out a sound that could rival that of a vulnerable, wounded animal. He had suffered many pains in his life. More than he could count. He'd shucking thrown himself off the wall in the Glade and had broken his leg as well as injured a lot more throughout his time in the Glade. And yet, somehow, all of that had been completely bearable compared to this.
He sat up, struggling as if pushing through some invisible force. He managed but a few seconds later he fell right back to the bed as the world spun violently around him. He just barely managed to choke back the need to release what little he still had in his stomach, whatever that might be.
Slowly, bits and pieces returned to his memory. He'd gotten a text with an address. He'd talked to a girl... Tea... she was throwing a party. She had talked him into coming because how would he meet people if he didn't put himself out there. And so, he'd decided to go. He'd told Lydia and Thomas and Lydia had also been helping to host the party, so it wasn't as if he would have had to go out of his way to go in the first place.
Then he remembered trying a drink for the first time. That first one had been disgusting but then he'd tried another and that one had been very good. Tastier than he remembered anything ever being before. He'd taken it slow, as he was warned to do, and he'd talked to a few people but he couldn't for the life of him remember who they had been or what had been said.
In fact, the last thing he really remembered was slurring as he tried to explain the Glade to someone. He couldn't remember falling asleep and he couldn't remember how he'd gotten home. He tried to sit up and managed but as soon as he stood, he barely managed all of three seconds before falling to his knees. He instinctively reached out for the wastebasket near his night stand, releasing the minimal contents of his stomach into it five seconds later.
"Nnngh," he moaned, reaching a hand up to clutch his throbbing head. People did this for fun? Were they trying to kill themselves?