𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐒 two years ago, my life changed forever. All it took was one night to alter the rest of my life. I wasn't sure about a lot of things however, there are two things that I was absolutely certain on: what I wanted to wear and who...
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Next morning is so rough that when I climb out of bed, I fear I might drop down dead. My feet hit the cold marble flooring, a small bin next to my bed that's filled with watery vomit I don't remember throwing up.
My head is pounding so hard that the room is spinning, my stomach rolls but nothing comes up—probably completely empty by now. I look down to see I'm still in my dress from last night—bad, bad sign.
I take a second, sitting on the edge of my bed to try and remember anything from last night. I can't. Well, I remember taking drugs that I now deeply regret.
I don't even know why I did it. Like, really, really do not know why. I fucking hate myself for it, I know that much. But deep down, I knew it was wrong, I was well aware that everyone would hate me for it and I still did it.
Beside my bed is a glass of water that I down within seconds to try and soothe my head. Once I'm half settled, I drag my feet across the floor, open the door and heave when I'm hit with the Miami sun beaming through the open area.
Voices come from the open balcony door so I head that way, regretting it deeply when everyone stops what they're doing to look at me. Astrid, Charlie and Mia are in the pool. Carter's sprawled out on a Sun lounger, Albie's sat at the outside bar, nursing a tumbler but I can't see George.
"Morning, sunshine," Carter calls from his bed, sunglasses on, hair a mess and skin pale—probably doesn't feel as shitty as me. No one's shocked when Carter gets on it when we go out, it's almost expected from him so there's no one for him to let down. Unlike me.
I raise my hand to block the sun and throw him my middle finger. Albie doesn't even look at me, he shifts his whole body so he's facing the view over the balcony.
A deep feeling of guilt and anxiety settles in my gut when no one says anything to me. They all kind of just stop and stare—waiting for me to say something. I suppose it's my fault, but it's not like I can go back and change what I have done.
After a few painful seconds, I turn around, walk back into the penthouse with my head down like a told-off child. As I reach my bedroom door, with my hand on the knob, I stop, turn my head and burst out into a silent sob.
George and a random girl both come stumbling out of the kitchen. His hands on her waist, tickling her as she squirms and tries to run away. I wouldn't think anything of it if she wasn't wearing his shirt. But she is. Her chest is littered with trampy-looking love bites and George's hair is all messed up—sex hair.
Thankfully, from here they can't see me. A half wall blocks their view but just as I go to open my bedroom door, the girl comes to a stop in front of me. "Oh. Sorry," she giggles, batting George's hands away from her. Fucking bullshit.
George eyes me over the girl's head, meaningless apologies passing between us. I say sorry for last night and he says sorry for last night. He also says sorry for this but I don't forgive him.
