Facade

11 || anything but safe

song : Panic Room - Au/Ra
tw : PTSD, mentions of sexual assault

~ Alejandra ~

Sunlight beaming into your room when you have the worst headache imaginable is not the best way to be awoken.

It's not a good way to be awoken on any day, but especially not with an already blinding headache.

I turn over in the bed to face away from the light source but it's coming from everywhere.

Besides, this pressure building behind my eyes is already preventing me from falling back asleep.

But the annoyance of the sunlight burning my closed eyes along with my hangover headache is the least of my worries when I realize that my bedroom has black out curtains and only one window.

That has my eyes snapping open and without even sitting up, I can already tell that I don't know where I am.

Black sheets, softer than anything I own, are splayed around me in the foreign bed.

Full glass walls allow the sunny day to light up the room from behind the bed and the wall to the right with no curtains on either side.

What kind of lunatic doesn't have curtains?

The smell of the room is cleaner than any guy I've ever met, making this all the more frightening.

Hints of a soft cologne and fresh linen fill my nose as I try to figure out where the hell I am.

I've been kidnapped by a clean freak, psychopath.

And I don't dare to move.

I only tip my head down enough to see that I'm still in my dress from last night.

My shoes and headband are gone and my heart starts thumping when I realize that I don't remember most of my night.

I can only really recall up to the point where I interrupted Gabriel and his little snow roach.

He has terrible taste in girls if that's the kind he goes for.

I had only been tipsy by the time I grabbed the bottle from the blonde bitch and when I felt I'd embarrassed her enough, I left them be and started to really drink.

It wasn't because of him though.

He could fuck anyone he wants, even if they're even more intolerable than he is.

Why should I care?

Plus, I always drink on Halloween and trust me, Gabriel Santiago would not be the reasoning for my intoxication.

After about half of the bottle and dancing with a killer clown, it gets fuzzy.

That means it gets dangerous.

Don't get me wrong, I've woken up in foreign beds before. Each time I was almost completely unaware of my actions from the night prior for the first twenty minutes of consciousness.

This time, it seems like I went too far since I always remember agreeing to go home with someone.

I always make sure to verbally consent, even if I know I'll regret it in the morning.

But now, panic floods my stomach at the fact that not only do I not remember consenting, not only am I unaware of how I got here, I don't remember much of anything at all.

That includes the owner of the mystery bed that I'm in.

Immediately, my breathing turns ragged as I sit in silence, moving to see if I'm in pain.