Why Me ✓ (FINAL EDITS)

Chapter 19

EMERSON FINDLAY

I got frustrated as something was tickling me. It irked me to no end to be woken up by getting tickled. Although, it was better than getting thrown at, with a bucketful of ice-cold water. No one knew the 'unique' ways Claire had for making me wake up. Thinking of her reminded me of the last sane or coherent thought I had yesterday.

The last thing I remembered was getting pulled away from Claire by Jackie to have a drink. Suddenly, irritation got the best of me and my eyes jerked open. I tried to sit up but, failed miserably, hitting my head on the pillows. I moved a little to be faced by a bare chest. Also, I noticed, the thing keeping me from getting up was a muscular, tanned hand across my waist. And, I did the only thing that was a pure reflex- I shrieked. At the top of my lungs. Damnit! What had happened last night? Then, I finally craned my neck to look up to meet with blue eyes encased with deeply furrowed eyebrows, looking at me.

"Adrian! What the-", I shouted. And he dared to pull me up and snuggle his nose into my neck.

"It is still early Em. Sleep a little more. I'm sure you hate a hangover." He voiced his sleepy thoughts in a low, sleepy voice. What the hell was wrong with him? I checked around and was more than relieved to find myself still fully clothed. And, he was just shirtless.

No one knows how much I just wanted to cuddle with him as long as he would permit but, ignoring the stupid urge of my silly brain, I gave him a little push and was able to free myself only because he wanted to set me free. Now that I slowly stood up, I realized that I was wearing clothes but, not the ones I wore last night. I was in a men's shirt, with a light blue hue to it. It came down to a decent length and I did have my underwear intact. He had gotten me so disconcerted that I threw a pillow at his sleeping form. He groaned and finally moved, rolling and sitting up. My eyes followed his every move as he rubbed his eyes groggily and then looked at me.

His eyes took me in, moving from my bare feet, travelling all over, up to my dishevelled hair.

He cleared his throat, trying to bring himself back and asked, "What's wrong?"

"What happened last night?" I replied to his question with a question of my own. He quirked a brow at me as though he did not understand what I was asking.

"What do you mean? The annual ball happened last night." He shrugged, seemingly unfazed.

"I know but, I'm asking, what happened after that?" I asked aggravatedly.

His lazy eyes now grew a little wide as a smirk made its way onto his lips. He quirked a brow, "Oh! Do you mean after that? Don't you remember darling? Were you so drunk that you don't even remember our close intimacy?"

I was totally flabbergasted. What was he trying to intend? "Why are you calling me darling? And who changed my clothes?"

His smirk just grew into a grin. It seemed that he was enjoying my despair and lack of memory a little more than he should have been. I could see he was clearly trying not to laugh at my face.

"Oh that. I'm just returning the favour. Because you too called me by one too many names last night. It's hard to keep track isn't it?" he answered.

I tried to force my brain to form a coherent picture or just a glimpse of last night. Nothing. That is what I got. Nothing came up in my head. I internally pledged never to drink myself to oblivion again.

"What happened? Nothing coming up?" I shook my head, desperately wanting this conversation to reach its climax.

"Don't worry, sweetie. I will tell you everything but, only after you have gotten yourself all cleaned up.