"𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁
all it ever says is:
𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦."
- trista mateer, honeybee
when valerie forester heads south to visit her best friend in nashville, the last thing she expects when she departs is an...
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★ ★★
i was never drinking again.
i'd said it a thousand times before, but this time, with a generous layer of sweat coating my body, a pounding headache, and a rancid taste in my desert-dry mouth, i was adamant that my drinking days were over. partially because of the gnarly hangover i now had no choice but to nurse. but mostly because i couldn't remember a goddamn thing. i hated that. i hated it.
a low grumble reverberated at the back of my throat as i rolled over in bed. how i even got there in the first place was beyond me, but quite frankly, all the why's and wherefore's were the very least of my worries. for now, anyway.
i rubbed the sleep from my eyes with the heels of my hands. then i blinked. once. twice.
shit.
the walls surrounding me didn't belong to layla. the plush forest green sheets in which my legs were tangled didn't belong to her, either. those weren't layla's dark clothes in a pile by the door, and that certainly wasn't her acoustic guitar in the corner (she was nothing if not musically inept).
my stomach twisted as a woodsy scent crept into my nostrils, combined with the faint aroma of stale weed and sweat. judging by the roaches in the ashtray next to the bed and my current state of being, the weed and the b.o. made perfect sense. but one scent had yet to be identified. and frankly, i wasn't quite sure if i wanted to find its source.
i was an idiot. a big, dumb, stupid, idiot.
with two fistfuls of my hair, i scrunched up my face and let out a soft whine of defeat. i wanted layla. not only that, but i needed her, too. hungover in a stranger's bedroom, in a city that felt like even more of a stranger, i didn't know what to do. i was at a complete and utter loss. if i could just find my damn phone, i'd call in a heartbeat, but even that was proving to be a fruitless endeavour as i swiped my hand across the mattress.
so i willed myself to get out of bed, and i padded across the floor to the ajar door in the corner where i found an en suite. i doused my face in cold water. swallowed a mouthful straight from the tap. then i confronted my reflection in the mirror, and at first glance i remembered exactly why i didn't mix my substances.
a grimace made a puppet of my features. i turned away for the sake of myself. that was when my eyes landed on a stick of old spice antiperspirant, and while my gut churned with guilt and distaste at the mere thought of using some random guy's deodorant, i didn't have much of a choice. i reeked.
quickly, as if someone was about to walk in and catch me red handed, i uncapped it and smoothed a haphazard layer over each of my armpits.
i figured then that i should make a break for it. i didn't want to overstay my welcome, and i wanted more than anything to dodge an encounter with the owner of that deodorant, especially since i was wearing it.
