The Circle

6 | The day after

My feet step on the soft grass and on the occasional cold stone as I make my way through the forest. The sky is turning purple, the colour intense and saturated against the greenery surrounding me. I continue walking in between the trees that I have leaned to recognise with time, and I know that I'm on the right track. The stones are becoming more frequent on the ground, the lost path becoming more visible to the unaccustomed eye...

I woke up with one hell of a hangover.

It wasn't your average head-hurting, mild nausea post-party discomfort, but something else entirely. I felt like I was going to die.

The dream didn't help. It was so real that I felt exhausted waking up every time I had it. Every time I appear in the forest I can feel the freshness of the air and the soft leaves as if I'm there. And as all other times that I woke up from the dream, I feel disoriented finding myself resting upon fabric as opposed to wet earth. 

My mouth is desert-dry, as if I haven't had water in a week, and my body feels lethargic. My neck hurts like a bitch. I open my eyes and morning light hits me straight in the motherfucking cornea.

Who the hell left the blinds open?

I shield my burning irises from the light and take a deep breath to steady myself. The world spins and turns before me, and it feels like I woke up at sea like some sick joke.

"Jesus Christ," I stand up and feel the full effect of the hangover, the dizziness that I felt laying down multiplied a thousand times. I take a few breaths and regain my bearings.

What happened last night? I divide my memories pre and post Kit. The memories from before our argument - Bronte's house, truth or dare, Nicolas in the pool, kissing Lucas - are clear, even if I was intoxicated for most of them. But after Kit trapped me against the house and I confronted him everything is a blur composed of music, colours and tequila shots. Did I jump in the pool? Maybe. It's unclear thus far.

God, why do I have to be so stupid? Why doesn't anybody think of the hangover before drinking?

I vaguely remember refusing to leave with Bronte, alleging that I was having a marvellous time and that I didn't want to leave. I cringe at the memory and run a hand over my face in despair. Kaia said that she would stay with me, and judging from the flashes of a blonde boy driving a car I suppose that Nick drove us to their place yesterday instead of Bronte's.

In my relatively sober state of mind, I finally try to make sense of what Kit said last night. That boy knew how to hit a nerve inside of me and he managed to push all the right buttons to make me fume. Everything he said - from the flat out dismissal of his reaction to his demeaning words -  made me quiver with an anger that I've never felt before, an indignation that created one of those feelings that has an intensity that manages to surprise you when it comes out.

I've only ever had two conversations with him; he doesn't know me. Then why did he affect me so much? Maybe it was the urgency to find him, or the way that I reacted after. It wasn't like me at all, and that was frightening.

I sigh thinking about this confusing, infuriating boy. The attraction I feel for him is as clear as day, but he's cocky, arrogant and blatantly annoying. Kit Valentine might be gorgeous, but he needs a serious reality check.

I look around the empty bedroom; Where the hell is Kaia? I finally I try standing again and once I'm positive that I won't topple over and fall on the floor because of vertigo, I open the door and step outside into an airy corridor.

I can't remember arriving at the Blacks' house, and I admire the architecture of the building as I venture down the hallway. I drag myself down the stairs and then walk into the living room, noticing how high the ceiling is. Unlike Bronte's home, there is no grand chandelier in here. I'm momentarily lost in the large house and I pause, considering where to go next with my fucked-up bearings.