One Shot Requests. [CLOSED]

[MikeFuentes] Authors - XxVitanixX

My head is pounding, I can hear it, it’s repetitive, like a constant banging on a door, it hurts, I feel like if I move it then it’s only going to hurt more, and I don’t know what to do. Drowsiness clouds my vision, I struggle to open my eyes, they’re heavy, my eyelids, I don’t know how I'm going to open them, or even see through them past the tired glaze.

I'm old enough to know what this is, what I'm feeling, what I have right now that’s making me feel this way, why I'm feeling this way. I don’t even remember last night, but I know what got me here, all of the drinking, that’s why I'm here, but I don’t know where here is.

It’s not my room, by now the sunlight would have knocked at my eyelids, begging me to get up and start my day, but the blinds in this room are closed, a dull gray color, and mine are always open, and they’re pure white in color.

Rolling over, onto my side, my right arm underneath my head and my legs tangled in a blanket, I attempt to close my eyes, get some more sleep, sleep will come, sleep is good, and I'm tired. But, I can’t close my eyes, not now, because my clothes are spread out across the floor, my bra is on the desk, my jeans are on the chair, they’re not on me, they’re on the furniture.

Combing my fingers through my auburn hair slowly, realizing that I don’t even still have my shirt on, that it must be somewhere on the floor, I bite down on my lower lip, so hard that I'm afraid I'm about to draw blood, but I don’t care. This is bad, this isn't good, this is horrible. I know better, I act better, I'm not this type of girl, I don’t just sleep with someone.

And, and now I know, I get it now, why my parents never let me go to these parties, because stupid shit like this happens.

If I turn over, then I know who I slept with, who I let in. Part of me, I don’t want to know, I don’t want to know what I did last night, I want to forget all about it and pretend that it never happened.

Oh my, god, if my parents ever find out, they’re going to kill me. Wait, they won’t know that I slept with anyone, I'm sure I wasn’t drunk enough to let him do anything without protection, I really, I don’t want to think about this anymore.

That’s Mike’s shirt, that’s my best friend’s shirt on the floor, and the only reason I know it’s his is because I bought it for him for Christmas. Holy crap, I slept with my best friend, I, he’s not going to remember it. He’s going to have to piece it together like I did and that’s not what I want.

Mike, he’s, I don’t think I went a day without having a crush on him, from the moment we met to now, and probably until I die, he’s always going to be the guy that I like. Sure, I imagined us proclaiming our love for each other, but this isn't how I pictured it going and this isn't the setting or the time or the way or anything.

This is all one big mistake, a drunken mistake.

Pushing the blanket off of my body, cringing when I remember why the blanket was covering me, I pull it back around me, realizing that he’s seen me, and that’s not okay. I didn’t want him to see me, I'm not good enough for him, and especially when you compare me to all of the girls he’s been with.

Wrapping the blanket around my body as I stand up, I walk about the room, picking up all of my clothing from the furniture, walking on the tips of my toes into the bathroom, turning the knob as I shut the door so there’s no clicking noise.

All I have to do is get dressed and walk out of here without making a sound. He won’t wake up and nothing has to be awkward between us. I can pretend that nothing happened; I’ve been pretending to like him as nothing more than a best friend for years.

&&.

Shutting the door to the bathroom behind me, I bite down on my lower lip, barely breathing as I watch his sleeping figure, trying to make sure that he remains asleep as I try to make my escape.

In all of the movies, every time someone wants to be quiet and not make a sound while walking past someone, he can do it perfectly, but when I try to do it, the floor creaks underneath my feet. Groaning inwardly, I loll my head back, not realizing until now how much pain that was going to cause.

He stirs, gripping tighter onto the lump of covers that’s in his hands, and he arches his back, stretching.

Think, Grace, think of something fast.

“Grace, what are you doing here?” Rubbing his fists on his eyes, like a small child, wiping the sleep away, he sits up slowly, only slightly cringing at what I assume is a pounding headache from a hangover.

I'm always here after parties, I bring him coffee and Advil, and now I never really knew why I was so comfortable with that role instead of the role of a partygoer. “I, um, you had a party last night, so I, you know, came over to see, uh, how you are.”

Not a terrible liar, I stutter a lot regardless, he makes me nervous sometimes, shy, and he’s used to that by now. It’s a believable lie, something that makes sense, but I can see it in his eyes, in the arch of one of his eyebrows, that he knows I'm not telling him the truth.

It’s not until he tilts his head to the side and points to my clothes, the same ones I wore yesterday, that I know that he knows something happened and is just waiting for me to tell him myself. It’s not fair, he’s being a jerk, and it’s so uncool of him to do this to me, to make me say it aloud just so he can laugh about it in the end.

“I slept over because my parents would kill me if I went home drunk.” That, I'm guessing, was part of the reason I ended up here last night, because they would kill me, I would literally be six feet under in a coffin if they knew that I got drunk last night.

Shaking his head, he runs his long fingers through his hair, crossing his arms over his chest, the blanket dropping down onto his lap, his bare chest showing, and it’s hard to look away, but I do, I tear my blue eyes away from him, in embarrassment, shyness, I can feel the blush painting my cheeks a bright red color, like a tomato.

He pats down on the bed, on the spot next to him, and I walk over there, hesitantly, sitting down on the bed slowly, feeling the heat rise to my face and a lump form in my throat. “You know, I was just as gone as you were last night, but I'm not stupid, Grace.”

Nodding my head, I lower my head, looking down, fixating my blue eyes on my fingers, playing with them, pressing at my fingertips and lacing them together. “I never said you were.”

We sit in silence for a moment, an awkward silence, neither of us know what to say, I know that he knows what happened last night, or earlier this morning, either way, he knows, and I know, and this just isn't good.

“You know that I wouldn’t take advantage of you, right?” Mike whispers, turning his head to look at me, but I keep my head down, I can see him from underneath my eyelashes and behind my curtain of hair and that’s enough. “Grace, you know that right?”

I don’t know why he’s asking the question, but I nod my head, because it’s true, I hope that he wouldn’t take advantage of me, I don’t know why he would ask this now. “Why?”

My parents, they’re so much different than Mike, yet they like him, they think he’s nice and he protects me, and I think that’s when I started to like him, when I knew that my parents can restrict everything but they can’t restrict Mike because they like him.

Sighing, he wraps a finger around my chin, pulling at my face until I'm looking at him. “This is the shittiest way I can imagine doing this. I'm sorry that this happened.” I knew it, I knew it was a mistake. “But, it happened, okay, Grace. I know that you’re into romance. I get that. I know that you read so many books that you wish it was like it was in those books, but it wasn’t. I didn’t get to tell you that I love you before this happened. We did things out of order, but can we make our own book?”

Biting down on my lower lip, I feel a goofy smile tug at the ends of my lips, and I shrug my shoulders, nodding my head. “We’re co-authors of this book, right?”

Smiling, he leans forward, pressing his lips against mine in a short, sweet kiss. “Yeah, we’re writing this book together.”