Lifestyles of the Rich and the Famous

I wasn't sure how long I'd slept, but it couldn't have been long because I was still really drunk when I woke up. I noticed I was significantly less drunk than when Lzzy basically carried me into Jack's home, but still really drunk. I also noticed that Jack was practically on top of me, leaving no space between us. The only light in the room came from a small crack in the curtains on the window. I could only just make out the half-flattened mess Jack's hair had become – and that was only because I was half an inch from eating it.

Deciding I wasn't too fond of the idea of tasting the twelve (yes, there were twelve he said were just in his everyday routine) different gels and sprays Jack's poor hair was assaulted with daily, I shoved him off of me. I also realized I really had to pee. I was gearing up the energy to stand when Jack reattached himself to me.

“Where y'g'n?” he slurred.

“Bathroom.” I tried to rise again, but to no avail.

“No, stay,” he whined.

“I have to pee!”

“Don't feel good, don't wanna be alone,” he grumbled, his head lodging itself into the crook of my neck.

“You're a baby when you're drunk,” I sighed in defeat, deciding to just wait it out until he fell back asleep. My hand starting running through his hair at some point, but I didn't really remember telling it to.

“Mmm,” he leaned into my hand, “you're nicer when you're drunk.”

'What?”

“You're mean sober.” I glared at him – well, his hair. “You're really nice right now.”

“Maybe I just don't actually like you.”

He shook his head ever so slightly. “Nah, ev'ry one likes me.”

“I actually kind of hate you.” Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies, lies, lies.

“No,” he yawned, “you don't. I'm your best friend.”

I tried to think of something smart to comeback with, but turned up blank. I blamed it on the alcohol, but he made me realize that, yeah, he kind of was my best friend.

Suddenly, Jack shot up and scuttled to the bathroom – or more specifically, the toilet. I sighed and forced myself up to trudge over to my very drunk and very sick best friend.

By the time I made it over to Jack, he had stopped puking and was on his knees, forehead resting on the toilet seat. He groaned.

I laughed. “Shouldn't have had ten beers and seven shots of tequila.”

His leg kicked out behind him, but missed me. “Shut up.”

I filled a glass halfway with water and handed it to him. He grunted a thanks before rising his mouth out several times. I slid to the floor next to him. “Feel better?”

He put his head on my shoulder. “No.” I chuckled. “How are you just fine? Why don't you feel like death?”

“I stuck to beer all night.”

“Should've done that,” he yawned.

“C'mon Jack, let's get you back to bed.”

“Only if you come with me.” I couldn't tell if he was still drunk and cuddly or trying to be flirty, but it honestly just sounded like he was sick. Either way, it still made me roll my eyes as I prodded him to stand.

I carried most of his weight, taking him across the room and to his bed. He landed with a small thud that had me wince, but he seemed fine. I turned to finally use the bathroom, but was stopped by Jack's hand on my wrist.

“No, Lexy come back!” Definitely just drunk.

I shook his hand off. “I'll be right back.” He grumbled nonsense, but let me go anyway.

When I came back, Jack was fast asleep and snoring like a chainsaw. I decided to let him be and made my way over to his couch before falling into a much-needed sleep.



The next time I woke up, I was definitely sober and miserably hungover. I went to throw my arm over my eyes to block out the sunlight and – maybe – ease the throbbing in my skull, but found I couldn't lift it. I cracked one eye open to see what the problem was, only to find Jack on top of me, again.

“Jack,” I groaned, trying to free my arms. I managed to get one arm out from underneath him, but he was still out cold. I shook his shoulder. “Jack!”

He grunted, “Fuck off.”

“Get up, Jack, I can't breathe.”

He finally opened his eyes and stared at me confused. After a moment he groaned, but finally lifted himself off of me. “I got cuddly-drunk last night, didn't I?”

I chuckled as I threw my arm over my face to block out the light. “You did. You also threw up at ass o'clock in the morning.”

He groaned again. “I feel like hell.”

“Me too.”

We sat there a while stewing in our misery, letting out occasional moans and grunts of discomfort. My head felt like it was going to explode, and my stomach was doing acrobatics in my ribcage. When my phone disturbed the silence, both of us covered our ears.

“Go! Shut it off!” Jack complained.

I found my phone, surprisingly, still in my pocket and answered it quickly. “Hmm?”

“WHERE ARE YOU?” I cringed away from my phone.

“Tom, could you keep it down?”

He snorted. “What's the matter? Hungover?”

“Actually, yes.”

He laughed. “Well, great.” Jack slowly stood and shuffled his way over to the bathroom. “What'd you do last night?”

“Lex, water?” Jack called.

“Yeah, please,” I said before turning my attention back to my phone. I opened my mouth to speak, but Tom had a different plan.

“WAS THAT JACK BARAKAT? DID YOU GET IN HIS PANTS?” I winced and held the phone away from my ear until my brother decided to stop shouting.

Jack plodded back to the couch with two glasses of water, chuckling. “Were you planning to get in my pants last night, Lex?”

“N-No!”

That fucking smirk I absolutely hated made its way to his face as he sipped from his glass. “Mmhmm.”

“Tom, what do you want?” I growled into the phone.

“Just to know where you were last night. Mom said you weren't coming home and something about how nice it was that you've made friends.”

I rolled my eyes. “Jack dragged me to Oli's party.”

“You had a good time,” the boy beside me defended.

“You had a better time.”

He grinned. “Well I got you in my bed, didn't I?”

I heard Tom's laughter. “I'm dipping out of the gay fest over there. When you get home, we have a lot to talk about.”

I threw my phone across the room to Jack's bed. “I hate him.”

“More than you hate me?”

I picked up my head to glare at him. I hadn't managed to work up the energy to sit up, so I was still laying across the couch. Jack had folded all his lanky limbs in to squish in the corner next to my feet. “Shut up, you don't remember last night, you were drunk.”

He chuckled. “So were you, but you seem fine.” I flipped him off, which only seemed to spur the same low laughter. “How does breakfast sound?”

My stomach told my exactly how breakfast sounded. I shook my head. “Not good.”

He pursed his lips. “Hmm, ok. How about a bloody mary?”

“I'm never drinking again.”

Jack laughed. “What would you like?”

“Seven years of sleep.”

He sighed. “You're a cranky bastard when you're hungover.” I kicked him. “Alright c'mon, sit up, tough guy.” I groaned and shook my head. “Yes, up you go, come on.” He prodded and pulled me until I was sitting. “Now, we're going to get food, and you're going to eat so that you'll stop being such a miserable little shit. Come on.”

I followed him down to the kitchen, complaining the whole time. “And I think I've lost feeling in my legs from sleeping in these fucking hell-pants you made me wear,” I whined as I was pushed towards a stool at a large island in the center of a monstrous kitchen.

“Maybe, but you're ass looks amazing.” Whack!

“Could you fucking not?!”

He smirked at me briefly before busying himself around the kitchen. The smell of food made me want to hurl – especially since whatever Jack was making involved about a gallon of grease – but I stayed put, deciding if I was sitting, my ass wasn't in danger of getting assaulted. However, I nearly ran from the room when a greasy fried egg and buttered toast was placed in front of me.

Jack laughed. “It's not going to attack you.”

“It will probably come right back up after I eat it.”

He sighed. “Shut up and eat, Alex, it'll help.”

I scrunched my nose in disdain, but took a careful bite anyway. “Jesus Christ, there is no way you're real.”

He chuckled around a mouthful of food. “You like it?” It was good. It was a basic breakfast, but it was gourmet chef good. How is that even possible?

“You're definitely not real,” I mumbled again as I began to inhale the contents of my plate. I hated to admit it, but Jack was right, somehow the greasy breakfast food had settled my flipping stomach.

“I'll take it as a compliment,” my best friend grinned as he took both plates to the sink.

I could only stare at him as he carefully placed each item in the dishwasher, humming to himself. He was so...different. He was relaxed and all smiles. I could barely find a trace of the guy I went to school with in this Jack. There was no hint of egotistical asshole in his demeanor as he put everything he had pulled out away. There was no sense of superiority in the way he scrubbed the dirty pans and hung them on a rack to dry. There was no hint of the flirt I was accustomed to when he turned to grin at me, drying his hands with a fluffy dish towel.

It was around an hour later when I found myself lying on Jack's bed, staring at the ceiling as he mindlessly strummed on a guitar, his eyes closed, and a smile playing on his lips. I couldn't help but blurt out, “No, but who the fuck are you?”

“Hmm?” He abruptly stopped playing and looked at me. “What do you mean? I'm Jack.”

I shook my head. “No, Jack is a flirtatious asshole with a love of irritating me and smacking my ass. You are not Jack.” He shrugged and began to pick away at a solo I couldn't quite match with a song. I sighed and gave up. I was still tired and my head still had a dull throbbing in the back, so I didn't feel like pressing the issue...for now.

I listened to Jack play for a bit more before a little girl burst into his room. “Jacky! Jacky!”

He placed his guitar down to fill its previous spot on his lap with the small child. “Hey May, where’ve you been all day?”

“Momma took me to the park! I was gonna get you to come but Momma said you weren’t feeling good. Who’s that? I’m May!”

I chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Hello May, I’m Alex.”

“Lex, this is my little sister,” Jack smiled at her. I could see it, she had the same captivating eyes as her brother. “May, this is one of my good friends, so be nice, yeah?”

“Huh. Friend like Rian, or friend like that guy who yells a lot when he’s over?” I burst into laughter.

Jack flushed scarlet. “Alright, time for you to go. Bye May!” He ushered her out quickly. When he returned I was wiping tears from my eyes. “Please ignore her, she’s five. Oh god I can’t believe she said that,” he groaned, burying his face in a pillow.

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll let it go about seven years after you die!” I laughed. He just groaned at me again. “Oh come on, that was hysterical. So who’s this regular that ‘yells a lot when he’s over’?”

Jack shook his head. “Nu-uh, we’re dropping this. You want something to change into?” He got up and disappeared into his unbelievable closet.

I shrugged. “Yeah, but I also-“

“No, no! We’re dropping this. End. Of. Story.” He threw a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt at me. “Try those, you’re like, kinda my height, yeah?”

“Kinda? I haven’t reached the level of gay where I become a clothing expert.”

Jack snorted. “You make it sound like a video game! Go change, I wanna get busy on a day of doing nothing. I’m exhausted.”

I chuckled. A day of doing nothing sounded like heaven, especially when I got to do so with Jack.

Notes

Haha soo a couple days turned into seven? Sorry? I'm shit at this? Havethis long ass chapter to make up for my horrible writer's block and procrastination? Enjoy? ~ Anna