"Oh, god," I breathe, my face only inches away from some dark haired boy's, "what happened last night?" I ask to myself. I woke up in an empty inflatable kiddie pool in a trashed apartment, knotted up in the arms of a random sleeping boy. His Asian almond shaped eyes are shut, and his hot breath floats out across my lips.
"Ugh!" I try to sit up, but his arms weigh me down like a led weight. Slacking into his arms, I accept the fact that I'm not moving till the mystery boy wakes up. My head aches and whirls like a broken carnival ride running in reverse.
I can't remember anything. All I can remember is going against my better judgement, and attending some party. The apartment stinks of sweat and alcohol that stings my nose, and is littered with empty bottles, and unconscious bodies.
My blonde hair is matted up, and I can feel my makeup smudged around my brown eyes. I'm a mess, a hungover mess that regrets every decision that got me to this point.
"Do you have a clue what happened last night?" I mumble to the sleeping boy next to me. "Did I have fun? Did I dance? Did I win at beer pong? Did I meet a cute guy?" I carry on my one sided conversation quietly. I grin at the boy's peaceful sleeping face.
"You're cute, so I guess I did." I say quietly. The boy twitches, and his brown eyes open up. His dark brows knit up in confusion at the sight of me. His gaze feels heavy on me, and makes me as nervous as my tap recital in first grade. It was a lot easier talking to him when he was asleep.
"Um..." I search for words, "good morning?" I try, beating myself up that I couldn't even say something, but ask it. The boy says nothing, he just stares at me like I'm from outer space.Swallowing thickly, I stare down at my fidgeting hands instead of those deep pits of brown. The guy pulls away, making the cold make goosebumps prickle across my skin. Sitting up, both our heads look in the direction of paper crunching and rustling.
Wedged under my bare thigh (which I will worry about later), is a crumpled up certificate. Ironing out the wrinkles, I choke down a gasp at the fine print.
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The golden edges of the marriage license make my stomach knot up painfully. The prominent seal screaming official.
"Holy..." I breathe, not able to finish without vomiting.
"Shit!" The guy groans, finishing for me. " I thought it-you- were a dream." He grumbles, glaring down at his boots.
"You're..." My mouth dries up at the word.
"Jackson, you're husband." Both our faces drain of color at the H word. I drop my face into my hands, and Jackson pulls on his black hair till his hands shake.
"This isn't real, it can't be real." I laugh nervously. My head just can't wrap around it, me... Married? Tearing away from my hands I gawk at my fourth finger, on my left hand in horror. A plastic sky blue band probably no more expensive than 75 cents sits on it.
"Good morning, newlyweds." My best friend Jane says dryly. The goth sits up from her spot on the floor between two half naked sleeping girls, and a ring of empty beer bottles. "Congrats on the nuptials." She adds flatly, lighting a cigarette between her teeth.
"This happened?" I question Jane, holding up the wrinkled marriage certificate.
"Oh, it happened. You two are as married as Mike and Carol Brady." Jane huffs out a cloud of smoke.
"Oh, mother...." I start, my ears burning with pure terror.
"Fucker!" Jackson finishes for me, collapsing back into the kiddie pool.
