in my veins | jason dilaurentis [discontinued]

fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The blinding glare of the morning sunlight coming in from the windows through the parting in the blinds was what woke Arabella. The brunette squeezed her eyes shut at the brightness infiltrating the room, ignoring the minor pounding feeling she had in her head, one that she desperately wanted to get rid of, from having drank more alcohol than she should've the night before and pulling the blankets up to her shoulders, snuggling deeper into the pillows. Regret washed over her entire being for letting herself sink low enough to have resorted to alcohol to rid herself of the burden her feelings left, a burden so hard to bear that it weighed down on her shoulders and made its presence known. There was still an ounce of drowsiness left in her, and the girl wanted to take advantage of that fact and just fall back asleep, where her deepest fears and concerns were swept away and all that was left was the never-ending bliss of her dreams, dreams she sometimes wished would become her reality. Unfortunately, the realization that she had no recollection of returning home last night swept over her other miscallaneous thoughts and quickly brushed aside the momentary serenity of her mind that she'd allowed herself to be contempt with, her eyes immediately and regretfully shooting open.

Arabella sat up carefully and slowly—to not make the pain worse—in the comfortable but unfamiliar bed she had been sleeping on, the soft bedding and overall comfortable quality of the mattress almost overcoming her rationality, a desire to stay in bed and forget all other troubles settling in her mind. Instead, her eyes scanned the room for any clues as to where she was, the notion serving as a distraction from her thoughts, which were in disarray due to the vulnerable state her mind was in from still being heavily hungover. She had immediately ruled out her own bedroom once she caught sight of the warm, cream-colored walls and smooth light gray curtains that gave the room the hospitable vibe Arabella quickly became accustomed to, it reminding her of the same feeling she got when she was at home. Knitting her eyebrows together, the brunette swung her legs over the side of the bed, stopping for a moment to contemplate whether she was in the proper state to be walking around freely, before waving her concerns away and standing up to slide on a pair of slippers that were left near by whoever was kind enough to willingly take the girl under their wing. However, this time, when she glanced down and noticed she was no longer wearing the white dress she had adorned at the fashion show and now instead had on bright pink pajama shorts that left her legs exposed to the cold atmosphere of the room and a loose, white tank top, her previous thought was discarded and she now began to internally freak out at the sudden realization that she had been undressed by someone else, seemingly a stranger. The fact that her bra had been discarded at some point too left the brunette wondering whether she should be grateful that whoever changed her clothes didn't put her at risk of getting breast cancer or be creeped out that they'd either seen her bare chest or gotten close enough to feel her body up. For all Arabella knew, she could be in some old man's house right now, and the mere thought of having been felt up by a strange, old, and unfamiliar man had her practically quaking in place from fear.

Above all else, the brunette was honestly just beginning to question how she even ended up here; she was in a house she didn't recognize and didn't recall showing up to with no idea what dangers lied before her or who was even present in the house with her. Arabella contemplated whether she should stay in here, within the confines of the room she'd already become familiar with or go and wander around the house she'd deemed unsafe to try and figure out where she was. If she had truly been kidnapped, she doubted it'd be a good idea to just start walking around freely, but if she just stayed put and took no risks whatsoever then whoever kidnapped her could mistake that as an act of compliance and just come and kill her, or even worse, take advantage of her. Weighing her options carefully, the girl sighed and chose the alternative she saw as safer, which was to try and find out who brought her here before they came to her. Arabella took calculated steps around the room in order to not make much noise, the carpeted floor aiding her, and opened the door as quietly as she could. It creaked slightly at several points, causing the girl to curse quietly, but not too loudly to alert anyone else in the house.