The Girl in The Green Scarf

T w o

CHAPTER TWO
SEBASTIAN

"Whoever said winning isn't everything probably never won."
― Anonymous

I hear roaring shouts followed by the sound of gunfire. This is going to be my routine alarm from now on, I am told. I groan, throwing a pillow over my head in an attempt to block out the screams that I know are to come, but it is no use. Seriously, these barbarians should learn to keep it quiet or stop breaking the rules.

There is another round of gunshots and then blissful silence. I sigh in relief, noting the dire need for soundproof glass windows in my room. Just as I am drifting back to sleep and close to grabbing hold of the amazing lens of my dream camera, someone falls over me with a thud. A loud grunt of pain escapes my throat, my eyes flinging open as I try to wriggle my body from under the weight.

"Alex!" I shout, but my voice comes out muffled by the pillow covering my face. "Get off me you pig." The last part is heard clearly as he rolls off, pulling the covers and pillow away.

I look up to see my cousin standing by the bed, a grin across his face. His blond hair grew longer since last summer and the quarter-life crisis mustache he was trying to grow is now gone. He must have finally realized he couldn't pull it off. I knew I would win that bet. Mocking him and getting my reward will have to wait for later. I sit up straight, squinting then rub my eyes sleepily.

"Get up sleeping beauty, it is afternoon already," he says, ruffling my nest of dark hair.

"So what?" I mumble, my head hurting from just the sound of his voice. Maybe drinking yesterday wasn't a wise call. Or maybe I should have gone with just three glasses, not the whole bloody bottle.

"Don't you miss your sweet cousin?" Alex asks in a fake bubbly voice, throwing his arms around me.

"Mate, could you be anymore cringy?"

He simply flutters his eyelashes and laughs. I shove him away and throw myself back on the bed. Rolling his eyes, he stands up and walks to the wall-length glass windows that overlooks the front gardens and, just beyond the mansion gates, the main courtyard and markets. He pulls the curtains open and the room is illuminated with bright light. Which, for a person with a hangover, is like stabbing their eyes with hot knives.

I groan in pain and curse at him, throwing the pillow over my face again.

"Bugger off! And close those blinds," I mumble incoherently through the pillow. "I'm jet-lagged."

He walks back to my bed, yanking the pillow away from me.

"How can you be jet-lagged when the difference in time between here and London is only a couple of hours?" He asks, grabbing my chin in his hand and narrowing his eyes at me.

I slap it away and lie back, snatching my pillow from him.

"You are hung-over," he states with a laugh. "I thought you said you were smarter than that nowadays."

"I'm jet-lagged," I snap too forcefully which causes him to laugh harder.

It totally escaped my mind that Alex and I had yet another bet before I left for my final term of university. He said I could not just suffice with a couple of drinks; I'd have to go all the way. I said I didn't. Turns out he was right but I am not about to admit that to him.

"Theo isn't. He's just fine." His voice is far from my bed and then it gets closer as he continues, "How is it that only you got jet-lagged?"

I am about to point out that Theo got freaky training at 'camp bodyguard' which probably had included not sleeping at all, but decide to shuffle in bed and turn my back to him instead. I pull the comforter further up to cover my face. Maybe he will drop this and leave me alone. But of course he does not. He is Alex after all.