15-Day Writing Challenge

Day 14: Wake Me Up

Day 14: You/Your OC Wake Up In A Famous Person's House. Who Is It? What Happens Next?

It was morning. As the sun came shining through the blinds, I shut my eyes tight and hissed at the light. Then I scooted out of its glare, into a warm body that moaned when I hit it. I turned around and realized that I had been an inch away from sitting on his face.

Just a minute...I knew him, didn't I? I'd seen his face dozens of times whenever Margarita sent me pictures of her favorite band, Fall Out Boy. His curly hair was in a messy mop around his head. Thank goodness he was too out drunk to wake up.

Hm...my groggy mind struggled to recall his name. Jack? Andy? No, that was the other one. Sam? Dean? I laughed at myself. Joe? Joe! That was it. Joe Trohman, guitarist from Fall Out Boy. Wow. If he was here...

I had to get out. This was so embarrassing! How had I gotten here in the first place? I had probably had my fair share of drinks, because I couldn't recall a thing. I'd just have to wait for it to come back to me.

While I thought, I slowly pulled myself off the ground and looked around for my phone. I had come here with my friend, hadn't I? It looked like she had ditched me. I spotted my precious iPhone balanced, teetering on a certain man's forehead. Really, guys? This was immaturity at its finest. I made a quick grab for it and pulled back, braced for his awakening. But he didn't wake up! Thank the gods. And of course, he was Brendon Urie. Who else?

I had to get out before anyone woke up. I found my purse slung over the faucet in the bathroom, and then I crept downstairs, soundless as an owl.

What a ninja I was! None of them even stirred. I passed many famous faces as I snuck through rooms. Ed Sheeran, Patrick Stump, Pete Wentz, and many more. I went through all of their phones and left a little note, saying I'd been there and hi. (I also took their numbers, but that was just for safekeeping. No one needed to know.)

Finally, I made it to the door. It was really starting to be the time that people woke up. I had to hurry! I grabbed my regrettable heels and reached for the doorknob. It turned and squeaked, but it looked like no one heard. Then, I pulled. And the door, oh the door, on its horrible rusty hinges, covered in years of accumulated oxidization, creaked. It didn't just creak -- it moaned. It moaned and groaned and whined and shuddered. And I knew I was screwed.

The people lying all over the floors and stairs slowly shifted and opened their eyes. I had been caught red-handed.

"What's going on? Who are you?"

"Well, shit," I exclaimed.