𝕥𝕠𝕠 𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖 • 𝕞.𝕔

chapter 2

•••

"We should probably go," Michael said, while he was running his fingertips along my jawline, grazing ever so slightly my lower lip with his thumb. He had power, that boy. Nothing like I would have ever expected before, right? Expect the unexpected. At first, I'd thought he was just a random boy that wanted to dance and feel some ass for a bit. I mean, the more I looked at him, the more I wondered why I was even in his arms after spending long minutes kissing. But alcohol was helping, and I liked the way he smelled, and the way he touched my hair, so I let him. And I wasn't too bothered about it, actually.

   I had no idea where my friends had gone. Emma, Meg and Amy had probably left me long ago- because they were such good friends, apparently.  I would have to have a word with them about the whole situation.

Oh, God... I looked around me and clutched onto Michael's shoulders tightly, preventing me from stumbling over and falling on the cold, hard ground. He caught me, noticing that I was feeling a little too giddy. Fuck's sake, those cocktails were really that weird. I shouldn't have drunk any of them. I knew the colours were way too bright and that the smell was way too strong and that I...

   Michael lifted my chin up and kissed my nose, earning a very drunk giggle from me. I looked at his face, scrutinising every inch of it. He had small, light green eyes that were way too close to each other, and a cute turned-up nose you didn't usually see on boys. His lips were pink and full, still flushed after the several minutes of making-out we'd just gone through. His skin was very pale; too pale for me, and he had purple, dark hair. After all, maybe he wasn't that bad, and he didn't seem as bad as I thought he was, in this light, in this spot, at the back of the club.

I put my hand on the back of his neck, and attacked his lips roughly with mine. He responded to the kiss with equal enthusiasm, except this time, he was the one who pulled away. I moaned in discontent, trying to pull him back. But he resisted. I looked up at him, and he was smirking.

"We should really go, now," he chuckled. "What's your name again?"

"Just call me Lee," I managed to reply, holding his hand tightly. "I can't believe you asked me for it again. It's like, the 26th time you're asking that."

"I'm sorry I'm not sorry," he hiccuped.

"You're drunk."

"And you're beautiful," he beamed. His cheeks were flushed, in a bright shade of pink, and he giggled way too much to be sober. 

•••

   The only thing I could remember from that night was those patchy memories. We entered, and as my back slammed against the wall, I wondered where we even were, but my current state wasn't allowing me to (over) analyse the situation. I just went with the flow, for once in my goddamn life, and I knew that I would probably regret it tomorrow, but so what? What if I wanted to spend a night letting all of it go, like I had wished for during those many years of incessant working and not thinking about myself?

The light was dim in the tiny apartment -or maybe it was a hotel room, and I could only discern Michael's whole silhouette, and the outline of the bed in the dark. The window was a lot smaller than most windows in hotels- that way, I guessed that we had stepped into a flat. All of my senses were blurred; it felt kind of unreal, as I tried to feel every touch on my body, I didn't quite could. 

Michael kissed me deeper, and I let myself go, my hold on myself completely slackening; all I could do was following the flow, and letting myself fall on this unmade bed, Michael's whole, tall and lanky body now hovering me, touching me, making me feel giddy and happy and whole and strange and terribly good. I didn't even try to stop him, and I couldn't, and I enjoyed it. I liked the way he was with me, and it felt tender, his kisses felt like butterflies grazing against flowerbeds on my skin, as if he was planting seeds of flowers here and there. His green eyes were piercing holes in my skin, with the way the looked at me, and his hands felt as if he was enveloping me with love, just for one night. As if he wanted to leave me with something to haunt me when he wouldn't be around. And I was tipsy and naive enough to think that this was the right thing to do, to believe firmly that having fun with him would lead to something more. Deep inside, I was fully aware of the fact that none of us would call the other. Because this was only one night. A one night stand. Something that was only for naive, young girls, like me. Because he knew what he wanted, and so did I. And even if I could see stars in his eyes and even if the way his lips touched mine felt extraordinary, I highly blamed it on the alcohol.

After, we fell asleep into each other's arms, like lovers would have. But we weren't lovers, neither did we like each other now, did we? I couldn't remember anything about what he had just told me, all I wanted was to sleep. My mind was exhausted, and my body was begging for me to stop, to get some rest. And I listened to it, falling mindlessly into a heavy slumber, forgetting about all of my troubles, letting my mind drown itself in the dark of the night, feeling the beat of his heart against mine. And for a while, just a little while, all was well.

•••

"What the fuck?"

   I rolled over to my side, and touched the spot next to me. Oh, Jesus Christ. There was somebody under the duvet, and we had... Had... Sex last night now, hadn't we? I rubbed my temples to attempt to make the pain go away, but this was official; I was hungover to death. I growled as I managed to stand up, finding out that my body was fully naked. 

After tip-toeing around the dark room trying to find my underwear and the minuscule dress I'd been wearing, I managed to return to the bed, shaking the sleeping boy awake. 

What was his name again? Matthew? Michael? Yes, that was it. Michael.

"Fuck," he groaned. "What?"

"Hi, I'm Lee," I introduced myself. For the 27th time. "Thanks for last night. I had a great time, but I really need to go."

"Wait," he sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. As I stared down at him, I realised he definitely wasn't my style. Cute, but would not usually have gone for him. "Did we fuck?"

"Yes," I nodded, faking a smile. "Great sex. Okay, I've got to get going."

"Don't you want breakfast?" he asked, clearing his throat. "Or, like, just a coffee."

"No, no," I refused, throwing my hair up in a ponytail. "I have to go, okay? You know what, you... I have your number in my phone. I'll call you, okay?"

"Okay. You have a really pretty smile."

"Yeah, okay," I said hurriedly, before walking through the front door.

Now, I was sure of one thing. Never would I ever get drunk again in one of those strange bars. I would never follow Emma again, and most importantly, I would never do stupid things with strangers just because I thought that was cool when I was drunk.

Because now, I was completely sober, and knowing that despite what I had thought yesterday night, I would never call Michael back.

Ever.

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