“Uh maybe ‘cause you threw up all over my clothes last night after I carried you up here? I couldn’t very well leave you down there by yourself. And I didn’t want to go walking back all the way the The Pit (The Pit, in Mark talk, means his dorm) in my boxers.â€?

“Oh no…no, no, no. You’re not serious are you?â€?

“Dead serious, my love. But don’t worry, you’re not the only one who made a fool of herself.”

I groan and slide down the wall next to him.

“This isn’t like me. How did I get so carried away? I never drink that much.â€?

“I honestly think it may have to do with what you have written on your forehead.â€?

“Huh?â€? I stand up and navigate through the piles of clothes and strewn around my bed, past Sarah’s sleeping form on the other bed and into the bathroom. I look in the mirror and let out a squeal. “Fattyâ€? is written on my forehead in what looks like blood.

“MARK! Who the hell did this? And is that blood?â€? I shout at him, full of rage.

“Calm down babe. You did that. And no, it’s ketchup.â€?