Oh shit, Aaron was here, he was so fucking late. "Gotta... m'late," he mumbled, his words all slurring together, and then he tried to push himself up off the bed. He did not get very far at all. His head spun so much that he could hardly lift it off the pillow, and the movement set the deep gash on his left shoulder to bleeding once again.
It wasn't often that he admitted to it, but he really did feel like shit.
"Aaron.. m'late, sorry," he slurred as he slumped back down onto the blood-soaked sheets.