Soulmates, sunflowers, hot air balloons, ballet, wildfire and music.
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EXCERPT:
"Why do you always call me sunflower?" She looks as though she's desperate for the answer, staring into my soul with so much sincerity in her words.
I smile to mysel...
All synonyms for one another, and each can't seem to describe the complete agony that is all consuming my body and mind as of right now. And I don't know exactly why.
All synonyms for the feeling I have towards myself for my actions as of last night. But it's something I can't seem to remember, like I'm blocking it out.
It's a blur of memories. A disorganized pathway of flashbacks.
My head is swimming with thoughts and emotions that I can't seem to piece together entirely.
A bar. The main thing I remember is drinking at a bar I've never been too before. But other than that, it's a mismatch which isn't helping the pounding in my head that is making me feel like I could be ill at any moment.
I know I had a lot to drink, clearly enough to have an effect on me now but figuring out as to why I was drinking or how much exactly I had-
We broke up.
Oh. I can vaguely remember the argument we had now.
The argument we had that led to Evie ending our relationship.
My hands instinctively rub against my eyes as I let out a small groan. Slowly waking up from the uncomfortable sleep I was in.
Did I call a taxi home last night? Everything besides the drinking at the bar is currently unknown to me. I don't even think I'd be able to piece together how I got to the bar, let alone what happened once I was there.
If I'm being honest with myself, a small part of me just hopes I'll never remember because the thought of having to relive the argument with Evie again and again in my thoughts is too cruel and unfair.
That's probably what led me to drink to begin with - a hopeful wish to forget.
"Go back to sleep." A small whine drifts through the air in response to my groaning.
Meg.
Fighting with Evie. Leaving her apartment. Going to the bar. Drinking. Drinking. Drinking.
Suddenly, flashes from night flood back to me in broken snapshots.
Megan Davis. The ribbon. Her red dress. Her perfume. The paparazzi. The taxi.
My mind races with the tormenting memories of events last night.
Megs hands on my skin. Her fingers tracing my tattoos. Her lips. Her waist. Her breath. Her eyes. Her hair.
I can feel a sense of fear begin to overwhelm me as everything begins to fall into place.
Crashing through the front door. Her taste. Taking off her clothes. Her taking off mine. Tripping over her slippers as we both stumbled into her room. Falling into the silk sheets. Her teeth nipping at my neck. Her lingerie. The tearing of the foil and-
