Because of You

The Morning After

There was a strange sense of wrongness before I even opened my eyes. It wasn't just because my body felt like it hated me. It wasn't just because my head pounded as if someone were using my skull as their own personal drum.

It was because of the blankness that came with it all.

I peeled back my lids, groaning loudly as I stared up at the ceiling. There was something off about it and it took me a moment for reality to hit.

It wasn't my ceiling.

I didn't recognize the dainty, singular light or the poor quality of it, and sudden panic flooded me, making the pain in my head that much worse. I froze beneath the knitted blanket resting over me, my heart stuttering in my chest.

What happened?

Desperately I tried to think back to the following day, clawing for the memories that weren't there. Crowds . . . loud music . . . alcohol.

A lot of alcohol.

Oh no.

I lurched upright, my head shouting in protest and I flinched at the lance of pain that shot through me. I looked around, at the small, cluttered room, as foreign as the previous evening had been. Fear ran its cold fingers up my spine and I shivered. Slowly, I roved my hands over myself from under the blanket, feeling a shred of relief that at least I was clothed.

On the nightstand was a cup of water and, though still panicked, my throat ached. I took the glass gingerly in my hands, peering into it as if I expected to see some kind of discoloration. But my tongue was so dry it stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I took a small sip ensuring it tasted normal before downing half the cup.

"Good," a voice came from the doorway. "You're awake."

I looked up, just in time to see the last person I ever expected to find in the same bedroom as me.

Bellamy was leaning against the frame in a white tee and sweats, dark gaze studying my face.

I choked on my water, droplets spewing from my mouth. I set the glass down, hacking into my hand and staring back at him wide-eyed. "What are you—How—?" I was cut off by another fit of coughing. The force of it made my vision blur.

Bellamy shoved a hand in his pocket, eyeing me distastefully. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't asphyxiate in my bed."

The coughing worsened.

His bed?

I swallowed, struggling to get a grip on my lungs. "Sure," I wheezed, a hand pressed to my throat. "As soon as you tell me what it is I'm doing in it."

He shrugged glancing away from me and towards the wall like I was boring him. "You were sleeping."

"And?"

"And nothing."

"We didn't . . . ?" I couldn't even say it, too terrified by what his answer could be and my hands tightened over the too-thin blanket. I wanted to believe I wouldn't go to that level with someone I didn't know, much less him. But how was I supposed to know what drunk me would do? I had no idea what I was like without my concrete reserves.

Bellamy actually rolled his eyes, shooting me a demeaning look. "Given our very brief history together, do you honestly think that if I was interested in that, you would be the first person I'd go to for it?"

I bit my lip in thought. He had a very decent point. "So . . . we didn't . . ." I gave a small shake of my head, gesturing between us, "do anything?"