blackout - Alexia Putellas

2.

celebrating the supercopa with chapter two! and as always, there's no Erin without Martha. enjoy ☕️✍🏼

With the sparkling hazel eyes tracing her every move until she vanished from sight, the blonde slowly navigated the expansive hotel grounds. Towering palm trees lined her path along a paved walkway, leading her to a cluster of chic, petite modern huts nestled in the lush surroundings.

"Martha," she raps on their hotel room door twice, adjusting her short black dress with one hand while steadying herself against the wooden door. "Open up!"

The absence of a prompt reply led Erin to knock again, this time with a touch more urgency.

Frustration etched in her raspy, hungover voice, she muttered to herself about possibly missing Martha at the beach, only to abruptly realize that she never ever left the hotel room without a purse.

Did she lose it?

"Thanks, Karma, for gracing me with your presence," the blonde grumbles, knocking a third time before circling the hut, checking the patio door.

In a fleeting moment of gratitude for Martha's habitual forgetfulness, Erin's initially bewildering morning gains clarity when she discovers the patio door ajar. Stepping inside with a sigh of relief, she's jolted by a sudden, higher pitched scream.

"Ahhh-"

"Martha, seriously?" the blonde grumbles, massaging her temples as her eyes flutter shut, battling the stabbing pain in her head, "It's just me."

No matter the count of drinks she'd indulged in, it was undoubtedly too many.

"Just you?" the black-haired Spaniard gasps, her hand placed dramatically over her heart as she catches her breath. "I was ready for a dramatic exit, thinking this was my final hour and I was about to be kidnapped while waiting for my nail polish to dry. We should get breakfast soon, though. I really want to try those-"

"I'm not going anywhere," Erin groans, wearily rubbing her eyes as she slips out of the short black fabric, before slumping onto the comfortable mattress.

Perching down at the bed's edge, one foot propped up while energetically blowing on her nail polish in a bid for quicker drying, Martha laughs, "I can't believe you're on your feet at all after last night's escapades."

Sitting up, Erin furrows an eyebrow, "What in the world are you talking about?"

But before her friend Martha could offer any explanation, the blonde's gaze fixates on a conspicuous bruise decorating her own leg - a brooding, navy hematoma that stretches from calf to knee.

Ouch.

"What is that?" she winces, running her cold fingertips along the bruised expanse, a subtle flinch betraying the discomfort it causes.

With a chuckle, Martha, now occupied with hastening the drying process of the nail polish on her other foot, casually remarks, "Oh, that's a bruise," before gracefully standing up and rummaging through the closet in search for a pair of pants.

"Yeah, one can't miss that, Martha," Erin replies, rolling her eyes as she scrutinizes the bruise on her leg. Her focus shifts when she catches Martha staring at her from the closet.

"Any chance you'll spill the beans about last night?" the blonde grumbles, massaging her temples as she rises, making her way to the mini-bar for a bottle of water.

"Hmm, I'm relishing keeping you in the dark a bit longer," Martha grins, smoothly pulling on a pair of shorts while admiring herself in the mirror. "You might want to check that bruise under your eye, though – could use some ice."

Another bruise?

Sipping from the water bottle, Erin, eyes widened, approaches the mirror. Brows furrowed, she discovers a blue shadow along her left eye and cheek.

"What in the world-"

"You, hermana, absolutely stole my spotlight," Martha laughs, deftly securing her belongings in a red purse. "Who could've foreseen a day when you'd be in blackout mode after a night out, and I'm the picture of sobriety? Life's full of surprises."

Contemplating her friend's words, the blonde nods with a furrowed brow, desperately sifting through the mental fog of the previous night, but it yields no fragments, not even a faint echo.

Absolutely nothing.

Blackout.

"Do you have any idea where my purse might be?" Erin asks, surveying the room in a futile attempt to spot it. "Or my phone? Room card?"

"Last time we checked, it wasn't here. You probably misplaced it somewhere," Martha nonchalantly remarks, skillfully applying a decent makeup.

She notices Erin perched on the edge of the bed, frustration etched across her face.

"Hey, Erin... blackouts are just a part of life sometimes," the black-haired friend consoles, settling down in front of the blonde. "I've had my fair share. It can be liberating to embrace the loss of control, don't you think?"

Lost in thought, the blonde simply nods.

"Yeah..." Erin responds, her uncertainty reflected in a hesitant smile.

However, a sudden realization hits her – the mysterious woman she likely spent the previous night with, someone she can't recall.

Blackout.

"How about you freshen up, and then we go grab breakfast?" Martha suggests, pulling Erin up from the bed. "You can catch a nap later, and we'll handle the purse situation after. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like I don't have much of a choice anyway," Erin chuckles, wearily heading into the hotel room's bathroom to freshen up. She examines herself in the mirror, tracing her fingertips over the bruise on her cheek, before skillfully concealing it with a touch of makeup.

"I wonder what happened to make me look like this," the blonde muses from the bathroom, while Martha searches her purse for her favorite red lipstick.

"Oh, you should ask that captivating woman who seems to have you under her spell, my dear," Martha laughs while applying the lipstick. "She was absolutely smitten."

Erin's breath catches.

Captivating woman.

"Um... do you... do you know her name? Or who she is?" Erin inquires, gathering her hair into a messy bun and applying some flowery scented perfume.

"Are you kidding?" Martha interjects, poking her head through the narrow gap of the bathroom door, a mix of shock and disbelief on her face. She continues, "Don't tell me your blackout is more than just a few moments— oh no, it's a complete memory loss of the entire night, isn't it?"

"Um, well, I really don't remember-"

"You know what, let's head out for breakfast, and I'll spill the details over a meal. I need a boost before spilling the details," Martha laughs, snatching her purse and closing the patio door, her impatience evident as she waits for her friend to finish preparing.

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