and i don't even know [ransom]

[owen michael mills]

So here I sit looking at the traffic lights
The red extinguishes the hope that the green ignites

_________________

Hangovers were really no fun, nope, they weren't. They were the worst part of drinking, hands down. And the only bad part in the opinion of Owen Mills. And of course in the world of Owen Mills his opinion was really the only one that mattered, because he liked to think he was always right. Always. Even if it definitely wasn't true. He hadn't been right in thinking he could get totally smashed the night before and not wake up with a pounding head ache. He also hadn't been right in thinking that sleeping in the van that he and his band mates drove around in would be a good idea. When he woke up his head hurt, his neck hurt, his whole body hurt, really. He could barely move to sit up, and when he opened his eyes those hurt too.

"Damn sun..." He muttered, shutting his eyes again, and flipping down the sun visor. He had fallen asleep in the passengers seat of their old beat up van. he couldn't even remember it. Plus he was almost positive he had a fucking motel room he could have been sleeping in! Even if his drunken state he should have remembered that! But of course he didn't. Because in reality he was almost never right. He just liked to think the opposite.

He stood up quickly, not thinking, and hit his head on the roof. He also noticed that the hat he clearly remembered wearing the night before was gone, and his hair was poofy and messy. He had been wearing his favorite hat, and now it was god knows where. "Fuck. I need asprin..." He grumbled, rubbing his head, and crouching as to not hit his head again as he opened the door of the van and hopped out. Sadly he wasn't smart enough to carry asprin around, even if he was the kind of drinking, in his opinion. He was also the king of hang overs, the king of doing stupid shit he could barely remember, and the king of losing his favorite hats.

Raking his brain, trying to remember where the fuck his hat could be, he sighed. His memory was blank. And then, as he shut the door to the van he looked down at his feet. Oh, there it was. "Fuckin' hat, running away..." He said with a groan, as he picked it up and jammed it on his head. The bright California sunshine was shining, and hurting his eyes. He wanted to be back in Boston. Or at least somewhere that was dark, and quiet, where he could sleep all day and no one would disturb him. Sadly on tour that wasn't quite so possible. Even in his motel room the people were always barging in to ask if he needed anything. One of the maids even pretty much stalked him. He was firmly convinced that she stole his underwear. It wouldn't have been so bad if she wasn't so damn ugly.

"Asprin..." He murmured. Where could he find some asprin? Or someone who had some asprin? Or a glass of water. Well, he had an old bottle of water in the van. So he opened the door back up, and grabbed the bottle..spotting a bottle of asprin next to it! "Huzzah!" He shouted, picking it up, opening it, and shaking a couple out into his hand, before popping them into his mouth and downing them with the overly warm water that tasted gross, but felt so good against his dry mouth. Had he puked last night? He didn't think so.

count;;611
lyrics;; i so had consequences - relient k
tags;; ransom
outfit;; click