sinnstarter

A new beginning

Griffin awoke feeling as if his brain was pounding on his skull to get out. Groaning he rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow beneath him. Wait. Something wasn’t right. The way the sun peaked through the window was wrong; Griffin had curtains that didn’t allow any light in. Mother wouldn’t have opened them. He opened his eyes, squinting through the brightness that lit the room. Where the hell am I? He pushed himself up, immediately regretting the decision as he leaned over and threw up on the floor next to the bed, emptying his stomach of liquor; last night’s dinner. He wiped at his face, not surprised to feel dried blood caked beneath his nose from his desert of fine white powder. Patting his pants for his phone he looked around, an uneasy feeling creeping through him. Something was wrong here. The room was strange, too clean to belong to anyone from last night. It was too casual to be a hospital room, too formal for a hotel room. The only thing occupying it was a bed and a desk with a single piece of paper on it. Surely there was a place for clothes? A closet? He turned, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, his body aching as though a truck had hit him. Spotting a door he stood up slowly, the piece of paper catching his eye again. Three words were sprawled across the top in neat bold-face type. “Confess your sins.”

“I don’t have any sins.” Griffin grunted, padding over to the door slowly. Grabbing the handle he tried to yank it open to no avail. “Now I’m getting pissed.” Kicking the door he growled in his throat, frustrated at his spotty memory. He didn’t know how he got here and could barely remember last night in general. Think Grif, don’t be stupid. He could remember stumbling to his car and finishing off his last gram before the memory going black. He opened the drawers of the desk impatiently, looking for where he could have thrown his phone. He had a feeling that he hadn’t entered this room in a conscious state, causing his hands to shake slightly. The only thing that occupied the worthless desk was a pencil and a sharpener, begging to be used on that piece of paper. “Confess my sins you say?” He frowned as he talked to himself, hoping it wasn’t a sign of insanity. “My mom will be calling the police any minute now anyways. I don’t have to worry.” He picked up the pencil and looked at it carefully, wiping at his face again before sitting down at the desk. The mostly blank sheet beckoned him as he started writing…I don’t have any sins. I didn’t do anything to get stuck in this shit hole…