Original Stories Fan Fiction / Realism Fan Fiction ❯ 13th Floor ❯ Fate's a Funny Thing ( Chapter 2 )

The next morning, Tyler awoke to bright rays of sun, chirping birds, and his alarm of the chorus of Fireflies by his favorite band, Owl City. Although it may have seemed like a regular wake-up to anyone else, pleasant even, to Tyler, it was excruciatingly painful. The bright rays of sun were laser beams in his eyes, the songbirds were screaming, and his alarm clock caused a debilitating headache. He wondered if he had sustained some sort of horrible injury as he felt the sharp pangs in the back of his head. That was until he remembered the events of the previous night. He had started off with small swigs in a shot glass. He had felt the pleasant buzz in his ears, the euphoria, and the familiar fire in the back of his throat- and he liked it. Smaller swigs soon turned into larger swigs, and larger swigs soon turned into even larger gulps. Large gulps eventually turned into chugging straight from the bottle, and as he drank more, the more the room around him seemed to spin. He had felt his eyelids slowly begin to droop, and he promptly passed out. Somehow, he had managed to land on his bed.

As he sat up in bed, he felt a sudden stirring in his stomach and something travelling up his throat. Luckily, he had run to the toilet fast enough, so that he didn't have a vomit covered carpet. Tyler silently cursed himself and swore never to drink again as he felt the pounding in his head and his terrible stomach ache. As soon as he was sure he had thrown up most of the alcohol, he made his way over to his home phone and called Charlie.

He heard the dial tone for a few moments before a click and a gruff, yet cheery voice say rather loudly, “Yo!”

Though most of the poison had left his system, the noise still made Tyler groan in pain.

“What? Are we in a bad mood, or does my widdle baby have a hangover,” Charlie asked teasingly.

“Numero dos,” said Tyler quietly and breathily, between small grunts.

“Oh wow, I'm pretty good,” said Charlie, chagrined at having correctly guessed his friend's situation. “I take it you didn't get the job then,” he continued casually.

“Gee, thanks for your sympathy,” replied Tyler sarcastically with a wry smile that Charlie knew he was wearing.

“Okay,” said Charlie exasperated as he rolled his eyes, “I'm sorry you didn't get the job.” He finished the statement mockingly, but it satisfied Tyler.

“Thanks man,” said Tyler seriously.

“Anyway,” Charlie said in a light tone, “I got your phone.”

“I heard,” said Tyler. “I'll drop by in a few.”

“Adios ese,” said Charlie.

“Ahorita amigo,” said Tyler, truly smiling.

He dragged himself back to his small bathroom to clean up. It wasn't until Tyler took a shower that he realized how badly he had been sweating, and the boy thanked God that he had the day off from work. The warm water soothed the aches in his muscles from the day before. He felt the gentle pitter patter as the small droplets worked out his every kink, giving him a nice tingling feeling in his shoulders, where the water hit the hardest. The earlier drunkard felt refreshed as he stepped out of the small stall to stare into the fogged up mirror across from him. He wrapped a towel around his waist, dried his hair, and un-fogged the mirror with his fingers. After ridding his mouth of the bittersweet taste of tequila with a good brushing, he quickly dressed in his comfortable, green Cobra Starship T-shirt, well-worn Levis, warm, crimson Harvard University sweatshirt, blue baseball cap, and black converse sneakers. Tyler grabbed his wallet as he stepped outside his apartment door into the 13th floor hallway, completely clueless about the expression, “colors clash.”

Charlie lived about 15 minutes away from Maison Samedi by cab. Sadly, it was just Tyler's luck that every single taxi driver in the city seemed to be ignoring him. In the end, he was forced to walk the six miles in freezing weather with a sweatshirt that really didn't offer much warmth. When he finally arrived at Charlie's home in Little Italy above the local pizza parlor, he was extremely relieved.

Tyler automatically grabbed Charlie's spare key from beneath the door mat, opened the door, and sunk deep into Charlie's plush beanbag chairs near the entrance of his humble abode. Charlie, sensing Tyler's arrival, strode over to him.

“What the hell? Dude, you could've knocked,” said Charlie, rather irritated.

“Sorry-huff-I-huff-forgot-huff,” breathed Tyler in between pants. Charlie waved it off, noticing his friend's condition.

“I'm guessing you didn't take a cab,” said Charlie, looking Tyler up and down. Tyler rolled his eyes, but said nothing, catching his breath. With that, Charlie tossed a small Motorola cellular phone in the air which Tyler deftly caught. Tyler silently nodded his head in thanks, taking in the fact that he had no new calls.

“So,” Charlie stalled, “anything new?”

“Not much,” Tyler replied. “You?”

“Same old, same old,” said Charlie casually. Tyler raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Still stalking the Annie's girl?” Tyler asked knowingly.

“It's fate, I tell you,” declared Charlie dramatically, holding his hands to his heart.

“Whatever Romeo,” said Tyler, shaking his head disapprovingly, arms folded. “I'll see you later,” he finished standing up and making his way towards the door, a small smile playing across his lips. Silently, he wondered if Charlie's ideas about fate and destiny were correct. Tyler was able to take a taxi home.