I let out a guttural groan under the weight of the overwhelming pain pressing through every inch of my body, and I try to sit up on the soft mattress that's been supporting me. Each movement draws a sharp gasp, and I whimper through the pain, feeling like I've been run over by a truck.
But my pitiful attempt to rise is halted by something that seems to be holding me back. I let my head fall back onto the pillow, releasing a forced growl of frustration.
My hair is a tangled jungle—I don't need a mirror to know I look like shit.
Slowly, I become vaguely aware of the throbbing in my head, pounding like a drumbeat, and the sharp stings poking at every part of my body, even when I don't move a muscle. My throat is bone-dry, and I feel a desperate need to soothe it with a tall glass of ice-cold water.
In a word, I feel awful.
"What the hell!?" I whisper, terrified, as I finally manage to force my heavy, dizzy eyes open to take in my surroundings.
Holy macaroni!
This has to be the most luxurious bedroom I've ever seen! It's easily half the size of my entire apartment!
The walls are painted in a soft, pleasant tone—unlike the blinding orange of my own room—and the dark furniture creates a refined contrast with the rest of the space. Three dark doors line one wall, and one of them definitely looks like it leads to a bathroom… probably just as ridiculously oversized.
I let my aching eyes wander—
…blinded by the blinding sunlight, I squint hard, trying to analyze everything in detail, trying to figure out how the hell I ended up here…
"WHERE AM I?"
This isn't my house, and I have no memory of how or why I got here… None of it makes any sense. No matter how hard I try to spot even the tiniest clue, my head spins along with the room, intensifying the nausea clawing at my gut.
It's like I can still taste the sharp sting of alcohol on my tongue… Wait a second!
I squeeze my eyes shut tight and fight the dizziness as it creeps back in, trying to recall the events of last night. Step by step. Slowly. Carefully.
Cassey's party. We danced—well of course we danced, it was a party!—then I stepped outside, Robert was there and…
I rub my temples, hoping to jog my memory, but all I manage to do is worsen the pounding in my skull. At any second now, I might ruin these silky sheets thanks to my stomach threatening to betray me.
I've never gotten drunk before, but I definitely didn't expect it to feel like this. I don't see the appeal… Why do people even go to bars to—
Wait, yes! That's it! We went to a bar. Right. We went, and I had two… ugh, several drinks, and then, blackout.
Just as I'm about to smack myself for being this useless, a faint groan yanks me back to the present—and for one heart-stopping second, everything goes completely still.
Suddenly, it hits me—I'm not alone in the room. More precisely… I'm not alone in this bed.
A shift on my left makes me jolt upright.
"Holy Saint Christ! There's a man! What the hell is a guy doing here?!"
Shit! Now I remember what happened! I met some guy and I went home with him! For the love of—seriously?! I actually went home with a guy!
I don't even need to stress myself trying to piece it all together—my body is wearing the aftermath like a damn neon sign. Plus, I'm completely naked. And no, I'm not checking to see if he is too.
"No, no, no, no, no…" I whisper, panicked, as the specimen beside me stretches, mutters something incoherent, and then—using his left arm, which is already wrapped around my waist—pulls me closer.
Oh God… he looks… He looks like— I don't even think there's a word for how good he looks!"
My eyes nearly pop out of their sockets as I stare at him. Thick, black hair, a face that looks like it was carved by Apollon herself, a sharply defined jawline, and a body—that body—built like one of those guys in underwear ads, only this one hasn't been airbrushed into perfection by Photoshop.
He's real. Mine.
"Mine?" Okay, now I'm officially losing it.
I met this guy just last night, and sure, he's outrageously sexy, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm nothing more to him than a one-night stand. Oh, and what a night it was…Honestly, it went way beyond what most women dare to expect from a "first time."
Case in point: the delightful numbness still buzzing through my body. Funny thing is, the part about how I got here is a total blur, but what happened after—oh, I remember that all too clearly. Too clearly, for God's sake. I can't believe I actually did all that…
I need a plan. A clean, stealthy escape before Sleeping Casanova wakes up and I have to face a situation that's mildly humiliating, to say the least.
I'm not cut out for those awkward post-hookup convos like, "Morning… last night was great," and "Yeah, totally, same here." Nope. I'm skipping all that and heading straight for the part where we never see each other again, and this night fades into oblivion.
At least for him…
Now I just have to figure out how to slip out of his embrace without waking him up.
He's going to wake up soon.
I push away the ridiculously sweet thought of how cute he looks when he's sleeping and focus on lifting his arm from around my waist without waking him.
"Easy, easy… just a little more…"
I nearly have a full-blown panic attack and consider leaping out of bed and running out the door screaming when he starts to stir.But I freeze in place as he simply rolls over to the other side, releasing me from his grip, exhales loudly, and goes quiet again.
"Thank you!"
I probably owe the universe a whole lot of good deeds for this stroke of luck, but honestly, I'd sell my soul to the devil just to get out of this situation…
I sit up slowly, every movement deliberate, ignoring the stabbing aches and the infernal ringing in my head. I grab the first thing I see to cover myself—a shirt, probably belonging to the sexy beast still asleep—and begin desperately scanning the room for my underwear.This is not how I imagined starting my morning. Fuck that—this is not how I imagined starting any morning.
Not in the bed. Not under the bed. Not on the floor. Where the hell is it?! If I were a pair of panties, where would I hide? Oh great, now I'm talking to myself. Again.
"Someone please slap me hard and wake me up from this nightmare!"
"Bingo!"
I grin from ear to ear when I spot my black bra and panties hanging from a lamp on the left side of the bed.
"I really don't want to know how that happened…"
After managing to snatch my underwear off the lamp and pull it on in a flurry of movement, I realize—my dress is nowhere in sight. I tiptoe out of the bedroom, mentally praying I don't run into anyone… a housekeeper, a friend, maybe even the guy's girlfriend! I don't even know his name. Or whether he's single.
And still, I jumped into bed with him.
That's it. No more alcohol. Ever. Again. It turns me into a total slut.
I creep silently down the hallway, which feels like it stretches on forever, hugging my almost-naked body for some small sense of decency—or maybe just protection. The somber silence and the emptiness of the place send a chill down my spine.
"This place is bigger than I expected…" I whisper, scanning the wide hallway filled with closed, mysterious doors.
If I thought the bedroom was fancy, the rest of the apartment is way beyond anything I'd imagined luxury to be. Again, everything is tastefully decorated—definitely the work of a professional interior designer—but the space still carries the "signature" of its owner. It feels tailored to his lifestyle.
Sure, I'm in no position to judge—since all I really know about him is his… particular talent in one very specific area—but something tells me he's the solitary type. No family photos. No personal pictures. Nothing to warm up the cold, quiet perfection of this place. I step through the door with a strange feeling of melancholy, of regret— Not for what happened last night, but for how this so-called "relationship" between me and the first man I ever gave myself to is ending.
My heart pounds again, painfully fast, and my eyes brim with unshed tears. Oddly enough, it's not the memory of last night that haunts me, but the certainty of what comes next.
But really—what did I expect?
From the look of this place, we're as different as night and day.
It would've been practically impossible for us to meet under any normal circumstances… And let's face it—I'm probably just one of his countless short, meaningless flings. He probably does this every night with any woman willing enough—or, in my case, too drunk and dazzled by his impossible charm to think straight.
"Goodbye, handsome and outrageously seductive stranger."
I hope we never see each other again…