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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/CartoonistKey6032 on 2025-09-23 02:49:57+00:00.

I woke up this morning much the same way I always wake up: dizzy, dehydrated, and in a pool of vomit. The mornings are always the hardest. Up to eight hours with no intake of chemical distractions, the reality of being hits you like a truck. The realization that yes, you are alive and yes, this is what living is like. Lifting my face from my vomit I re-educated myself on the sorry state my apartment was in. Empty cans and bottles a hundredfold crowding every counter every table every chair and every inch of the ground. A field of glass and aluminum peppered by the occasional tissue and pizza box. I can’t remember the last time I cleaned up around here. I always forget how bad it is. In the coming minutes I’d come to forget again. “What did you even get up to last night?” is a question I ask so often I don’t even bother answering anymore. I’ve come to the unsteady conclusion that as long as I don’t wake up in a prison cell, I probably just drank more than my fill and stumbled my way home.

This morning was a bit different, though. I had a cut just beneath my kneecap about an inch and a half long. Not too deep. This in of itself was nothing new. In my stupors, I take a certain joy in dashing my empty bottles against the curb, and such a hobby leaves its marks. No, what made this cut special was the way it bled. It bled at the same rate a little scab on your ankle does, bleeding too slow to notice until it pools up and runs down. The difference, however, it that it never stopped. There was a little pool of blood where my knee had rested. I wiped and wiped my knee, but the blood kept coming. I wrapped it in toilet paper and shrink wrap. You know, like doctors do.

I called it a done job and got up and checked my freezer. About half a handle of tequila sat there, iced over. I pulled it out and took a few swigs, gagging with every swallow. I gagged the same way as I drank a glass of water. I peeled my vomit-stained shirt off my chest and threw it in my overflowing hamper. I stumbled past my vomit still sitting on the tile and threw myself on the couch, sleeping for an agonizing 30 minutes. I woke with a start and emptied out my stomach into the toilet. It was there, crouched in front of my porcelain throne that I noticed a stinging in my knee. After a good five minutes of dry-heaving, I got up to see that the toilet paper was completely saturated in blood, and little streaks of it now leaked out the bottom of the cling wrap.

I reached into my pockets for my phone, but it wasn’t there. I spend the next fifteen minutes checking jacket pockets, pausing to focus on not vomiting, then checking again. Eventually I reached into the pocket of my jacket and pricked my finger. I pulled put the culprit and lo and behold, it was my bottle opener. It was a silly little tchotchke I lifted from a souvenir shop in New York. It had the Yankees logo on the handle, except the wide end of it was broken off. The sharp little point on the end is what got me.

I continued my day as normal (drinking and wallowing, pissing away what remains of my savings) but noticed that now both my knee and my finger were still bleeding. I must have dressed and redressed my knee three separate times, and my finger twice. Every time I just bled through. I genuinely have no idea what to do about it, or what the cause of this is. For the first time in a long time, I wanted to know the answer to the question. What the hell did I get up to last night?