UNEDITED
Gemma Alder is used to being the unlucky one in the Alder family: from a nasty rumour about her back in high school to inexplicable mishaps, she seems to be the comical target for unfortunate situations. But if there's one thing she's good...
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Gemma
I wake up the next morning with a pounding headache and a mouth that feels like it's been filled with cotton. There's also the stench of stale, stagnant alcohol and sweat. Oh, and Jake's naked body is pressed against mine. Or...mine is pressed against his. We're so tangled in the sheets that it's too hard to come to a conclusion as to how we're situated.
Propping myself up on my elbows after I carefully manoeuvre Jake's cheek from my shoulder, I glance around the room, my stomach flipping as the room sways. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Why is it, that no matter how many times I promise myself I will never overdo it on the drinking, I still do?
Hangovers are the worst, and Jake and I are a couple of immature idiots for letting it happen.
After my stomach has calmed down, I slowly open my eyes again and glance around my bedroom, aware of Jake's tranquil breathing. The floor is still as clean as I left it when I did a vigorous clean yesterday; there are no forgotten clothes strewn across it, no shoes, and certainly no evidence of Jake and I making to my bed. Suffice to say, I can't remember how we got here or when we got here. I can vaguely remember us stumbling inside after it started getting cooler during the latter hours of the night, but that's about it. It isn't hard to guess, though, that Jake and I did a helluva lot more than undress and stumble upstairs to go to bed.
I glance down at Jake, staring at his face as he sleeps. He looks young and peaceful, and I'm jealous of him; jealous that he's still asleep and not dealing with a God-awful hangover like I am. I turn away, shaking my head. Yeah, big mistake on my part. My stomach does another uncomfortable flip, and before I know it, I'm rushing towards my en suite. I make it just in time, throwing up whatever's left in my stomach. And when that's all gone, I gag for a few minutes, wishing I had something to throw up.
When my stomach calms down again, I sit down, back against the wall, and close my eyes. A groan escapes from my mouth as I rub my temples. I wish Jake were awake so I could tell him to bring me some painkillers and a cold glass of water. Maybe a few saltines, too. I could yell for him, try to wake him up, but I know it will only be a waste of breath. Jake's a heavy sleeper – he's going to be out for a few more hours at least.
Struggling to my feet, I slowly walk over to the bathroom door and shut it. The first thing I need to do is have a nice hot, long shower. Showers are literally the cure for anything. If you're upset, you cry in the shower. If your muscles are sore from a tough spin class, you stand under the nearly-scalding water and work the tension from your muscles. If you have a hangover, you have a shower to wake yourself up and calm the nerves.
Turning the water on, hot enough that tendrils of steam begin to creep out of the shower, I grab a towel from the cupboard and set it on the edge of the countertop. I also grab a new head for my razor and a bottle of vanilla-scented body wash. When I step into the shower, I set both of those on the small ledge where my shampoo and conditioner are, and then lose myself in the steaming water. A pleasureful sigh escapes my lips as the water cascades down my body, easing some of the aches in my muscles and nausea in my stomach. It also wakes me up a little more, almost eradicating the lingering aftereffects of the alcohol.
