The Girl Who Was Adopted

Chapter 8 - You Need To Stop Shouting

My head hurt, a lot. My eyes were burning even though I hadn't opened them. My body felt like it was the heaviest thing that had ever been made, perhaps out of solid lead. My head hurt. It was so bright that it seemed like the sun was in my room – could someone please just turn off the sun?

I rolled over, I didn't have the energy to sit up and acknowledge the fact that apparently the curtains had been burnt away before the sun entered the room. I opened an eye and looked around, trying to ignore the pain.

This wasn't my room. I sat up, panic tried to unsuccessfully take over the headache, and the movement made me feel nauseous. This was definitely not my room, where the hell was I?

I looked across the large bed and tried to work out if the covers had been moved or not. I had over done it – in fact, that was an understatement; but there was no way that my friends let me go home with a stranger.

I looked around the room, trying to figure out whose room it was. It had a high ceiling with a thin, white fan, and barely anything filling the floor space. There was a desk to the left of the bed, with some paper and pencils spread out. Next to the desk was a white book shelf, neatly packed as though it had taken hours to perfect. There was a small carpet in front of a full body mirror to the far right of the bed, close to the bedroom door. The walls had some surfing posters. Directly across from the bed were two doors, one with a more cupboard look. The other must have been a bathroom, and I was sure that I could hear a tap running, but I didn't understand how it was the loudest tap in the universe; it sounded like a waterfall had simply been placed inside the bathroom.

The tap switched off and I pulled the covers closer – wait, who's shirt was I wearing? The door opened and I locked gazes with Tyler. He was wearing a pair of pyjama pants with his hair still messy. He laughed. "Hey sleepy head."

"Stop shouting," I moaned, I felt the relief wash over me and I lay back into the pillows, cuddling the blanket as I looked past the bump that was my feet, at Tyler. What if something had happened between us? What if he hadn't kept to his word of protecting me? Oh no, I just–

He laughed, "Don't look so worried." He stretched as he walked towards me. "I'm sorry that I came in while you were sleeping, but you've been sleeping for hours. I really needed to brush my teeth." I stared at him, he needed to stop shouting. What was he even talking about? "You don't remember what happened last night, do you?" I pulled the covers closer as I shook my head; this was so embarrassing. "Well, we came in here because I was trying to find a shirt for you to sleep in, and then you climbed into my bed and refused to leave. It would have been amusing if it hadn't been three am, but I'll forgive you."

I felt myself relax a little, glad that I hadn't been as stupid as I could have. "You need to stop shouting." He laughed as pulled open the closet and grabbed a shirt before pulling it over his head. "Nice room, by the way. Not at all what I had imagined."

"I don't know how to take that."

I shrugged, I hadn't expected him to be such a neat freak. I had expected some mess, perhaps some clothing in a pile somewhere or weird posters on the wall. "What time is it?"

"It's just after half past ten," he answered as he reached into the cupboard again. I looked around and on the floor beside the bed was my pile of stuff – my phone and green button-up included. Didn't I leave those in Ryder's car?

The last thing I could remember was after we'd taken shots in the kitchen, and Kit and I were on the dance floor – I think he'd been saying something about how I loosen up when I'm drunk, but I couldn't be sure; mostly it was a blur.

Tyler walked across the room and threw a shirt at me, "You can borrow this."

I sat up with effort, and my head spun a little and I felt a little sick but I ignored it. I ignored the shirt as I put it beside me; how did I end up here? "Why am I here?" I needed answers. I hated the idea that I had been so drunk that perhaps I'd said something stupid or mean to Ryder, or that I'd pushed him for answers he didn't want to give me. I felt worse as the idea came to my mind. "What happened last night?"