❝You think we're going to live happily ever after? Newsflash: I'm not a fucking princess, you're no prince and this fucked up thing between us is not a fairy tale.❞
Ian raises one perfectly arched eyebrow, unfazed by my outburst. ❝Fairy tales can be...
It's like a fairy tale... on crack! —Hillary DePiano, The Love of Three Oranges: A Play for the Theatre That Takes the Commedia Dell'arte of Carlo Gozzi and Updates It for the New Millennium
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I'm not in my bed, I've got a splitting headache and I think I'm on the verge of puking my lungs out.
I feel around the bed I'm lying down on. My sheets are made of silk and the ones I'm currently on feel less than silky to the touch. More like cotton. I'm also in dire need of some aspirin and due to the nausea I'm currently experiencing, I need a bucket. Or a top hat. Whichever one comes first.
I finally find it in myself to open my eyes and I ignore my pounding headache. The room I'm in is just a little bit dark so I can see a bit and there's a body beside me. I don't bother to identify the person. My phone is on the person's stomach— why?— and I quickly snatch it off so that I can glare at the time.
5:45AM. Well damn. I can get a few more hours of sleep.
There are various notifications; texts from Father asking about my whereabouts, a text from an unknown number saying 'Hey', a text from Imogen asking about my whereabouts, a few texts from Reyna gushing about some hot guy in her study group and... nothing. Nothing from Ian Ross.
I almost roll my eyes but I have a headache and I have bile waiting at the back of my throat so I don't. Ian hardly ever texts me. The only time he does is when he's extremely bored. Which, apparently, is not really a lot.
And why am I even thinking about him when I just had mind blowing sex with a—
I glance over at the body beside me. Definitely male. No shirt but his pants are on. Can't really tell the color of his hair but he isn't snoring so he's attractive even when he's sleeping and vulnerable. Has a bit of—
...Wait a minute. His pants are on.
...And so are mine.
I quickly sit up, ignoring the ache in my head and my urge to throw up. I feel myself up. I'm still wearing my black halter top from the night before and the duct tape I placed over my nipples— I touch my nipples— oh fuck it, they're still there!
And my pants... they are still zipped!
I glance down at the guy beside me again and I eye him slowly. I wrack my brain for any event of what happened last night and I come up with nothing. My brain feels like it's on the verge of falling out of my head and... and I didn't get laid last night.
I stagger out of the bed and squint around. I'm still wearing my boots (and my pants) so I don't even bother with formalities like looking for my purse. I need to throw up first, I think. Then get out of here. Because there's no way in hell that I'm going to share a bed with some random guy that didn't even screw me. What are we, lost cousins being forced to sleep in the same bed because we only had enough money to book a room with one bed?
