Copyright Dale Rogerson
An open pizza box, discarded crusts and half-finished cartons of garlic sauce turning rancid, littered the floor.
The room had witnessed too many box-set binges and reeked of sweat and stale duvets.
Kyle tumbled off the sofa, “What happened? I can’t remember anything after series two, episode four.”
He groaned at the debris of drug paraphernalia and empty bottles, his head thumped, his stomach heaved.
He yanked the duvet off his girlfriend, “Lola, wake up.”
The girl didn’t stir, her lips white against the crimson vomit that dribbled from them.
He held her tight, but his hot tears couldn’t warm her.
Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.