In Waves | ✔️

18 | blackout

Sometimes I get stress headaches before big tests, or when I have to do any sort of public speaking. Sometimes I get killer hormonal headaches before my period comes. But none of my usual headaches can compare to the throbbing pulses bouncing around my skull right now.

I hear myself groan as I wake up. It's an effort to open my eyelids, and when I do, the light stabs them right down again. It takes a few more attempts until the ceiling comes into focus. Wood panels with a fresh coat of white paint. I'm in Rachel's pool house. Rachel's pool house?

The night rushes back, and I sit up fast, a spout of nausea instantly pouring in. I'm on the couch. Me and Nate were here. Nate. Oh my god. I can't believe I made out with Nate. Is that all we did?

I shove off the blanket draped over me. Oh no. No, no, no. I'm in nothing but my underwear. This crazy lingerie Rachel bought for me. My breathing quickens, bleary eyes darting around the room. They land on the bar. I have flashes of us drinking there. Stripping our wet clothes off. Laughing. Kissing. Lying on the floor.

Lying under him.

I tumble off the couch and crawl for my damp clothes strewn around. No. I couldn't have slept with him. I'd remember it. I'd remember losing my virginity. Wouldn't I? Why can't I remember? Did I drink so much that I blacked out? My panic is soaring, ripping my brain in half. Nate's clothes aren't here, but I check the bathroom to make sure.

Nothing. He's gone.

I dress as fast as I can, ignoring the wet material, ignoring my first hangover and the urge it's giving me to throw up. My dread grows when I can't open the door, frantically jangling the handle until I see the key on the floor. It must have fallen. I need to get a hold of myself.

The main house is trashed, and I dodge around the mess when I hear humming in the kitchen. Rachel's standing at the stove in pink pajama shorts and a tank top, a messy bun sitting on top of her bopping head.

"Rachel!"

She gasps and drops a spatula in the pan she's focused on, spinning around. "Lia? What are you—" Her wide eyes follow me. "I thought you went home last night!"

"Why would you think that?"

"Um, because you disappeared? And Carter was a total slimeball, I figured you had enough and bailed."

My fingers twist. Carter. I can't believe how much of last night has been wiped. Or more like buried. As if I'd want to remember that part.

Rachel picks up the spatula, quickly flipping the pancake she's cooking. There's a whole stack of them on the counter next to her. "Where were you, then?"

I don't know where to begin. All I'm thinking about is the possibility of drunkenly having sex for the first time and not remembering any of it. The thought overwhelms me, pricking my eyes with tears.

"What's wrong?" Her face hardens. "Did Carter find you again? Lia if he did something—"

"No, no. I wasn't with Carter."

"But you were with someone?"

I hesitate.

"Damn, what smells so good?" A shirtless Harris waltzes in, stopping when he sees me. "Oh hey, Lia. Didn't know you crashed here."

I casually greet him and drop my head, but he's too distracted by the pancakes to notice my watery eyes. He grabs one from the stack and bites into it like a piece of toast. Rachel replaces it with the one in the pan, and they fall into a flirty googly eyes moment.

I'll never get used to the staggering size difference between them. The biggest linebacker and the littlest cheerleader - it's like a petite mouse and a hulking racehorse dating.