Winter's Kiss (Summer Rain #2)

XV ~ Wake Up Calls

{Fade - Lewis Capaldi}

...To tell the truth, I can't believe we got this far, Running near on empty, I wish somebody would've told me, that I'd end up so caught up in need of your demons, that I'd be lost without you leading me astray...

----

November 1st

Ava

     The sounds of New York was always the best alarm clock, and hearing the piercing siren drive past the window on that morning felt no different. I felt heavy, resting into the soft pillow. My head was thudding, and I let out a small groan of discomfort. My arm snuck out of my covers to reach for my drawers, finding only air. My head continued thudding as I turned, feeling the rough leather texture beneath my body and not my own bed. In that confusion, I struggled to open my eyes and let the sights wash over me. 

      I lay on a black leather sofa, facing brick walls and a slightly open window which let the cold November breeze trickle in. Pushing my body up slightly with my elbows, my eyes darted to every corner of this foreign space, remembering it from some blurry memory. Where was I?

     It didn't take much re-tracing of my steps for me to realise where I was, the blanket covering me confirming my thoughts. It was the same blanket I had lain under for an entire Summer. 

     I was in Elliot's apartment. 

  "Morning, sleepyhead," Elliot spoke softly, sitting on a metal spiral staircase with a steaming cup of what I assumed was coffee, the smell of which rose lazily from the mug and wafted to my senses.

     I was shaky and freezing, wrapping the blanket around me as I let my legs drape down to the wooden floor, tucking my feet under the rug for warmth. I smiled at him, before leaning down, holding my head in my hands as I let out a deep yawn, blinking into a more awakened state. 

  "I'm s-so s-sorry Elliot," I stammered, the chill making my teeth chatter. 

     He rose and closed the window over, his brows furrowing in confusion at my words. 

  "What for? Sleeping on my couch?" He asked lightly. 

  "I swear, I could only have closed my eyes for a second," I replied, trying to explain.

     The guilt I was feeling felt like a knot in the pit of my stomach, but I knew that I was explaining to the wrong guy. 

  "I don't mind," he laughed, "you were really knocking those drinks back."

  "I was, wasn't I?" I groaned, my pounding head agreeing with us. 

  "I would have walked you back to your apartment, but you kept saying something about your brother having a date over and--"

  "-- I didn't want to interrupt," I finished his sentence, the drunken memories flooding back in a mortifying montage. 

     The talks about London. The bar. The shots. The dares. The late-night churros and walking back to his apartment in the middle of the night, my smile wide and nothing but laughter echoing through our drunken brains. 

  "Yeah, that was it," he nodded, walking from the window to sit by me. 

     Everything was spinning, and I was trying very hard not to vomit on his lovely rug as it kept my toes warm. His apartment was exactly how I'd have pictured it to look: Simple and rustic. The rug was a multicolour woven fabric, but all of the colours were too bright for me that morning.