Everything She Is ✔️

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Alcohol has a very bitter taste as soon as it hits the little buds in the mouth. It burns it's way down the throat. And lights a heat that seems to last a lifetime in the chest.

Alcohol is the drink that burns. It not only burns when being drunk but the actions taken when the drink is consumed burns too.

Drinking and even being in pocession of alchol is a crime for anyone that is under the legal drinking age, in the United States. But that never seem to really stop anyone from drinking. I still drink, and I still feel the burns from it afterwards.

So when I woke up this morning without a clue of what had happened the night before, it was no surprise as to this was one of the lasting burns of alcohol. Well that and a man's arm wrapped loosely around my barely dressed body, a headache that I think was actually meant to kill my brain, a distinct ache in my nose.

I just continue to lay in the strangers arms, staring at the ceiling, not daring to look up at him, to look down to think about what the stranger and I could, and probably did do. I brush the idea of getting out of the bed to make sure my nose is okay because I know it's not. And seeing what I had done to it will only make it worst. And my headache, that is simply just another punishment I will have to deal with.

I know I should deal with the problem that my lack of purity has committed, but right now dealing with it is ignoring it. If I get up, it I look at the man holding me, if I look at the oversized shirt I am wearing, if I look at my nose, if I get out of bed, I am admitting to my problem.

I am admitting that I have no self control. That I make rash decisions without thought. That I let my emotions take over me, to rule my life, and this situation. And right now I just can not deal with that much humiliation.

I cannot deal with waking the man still sleeping next to me up and asking him the age old one night stand question. "Who are you and what happened?"

I cannot deal with the fact that I let myself get taken advantage of. I am supposed to be a strong influential young adult. A girl, a woman, that doesn't let failure, or guilt, or sadness seep into her professional being.

I cannot deal with a crooked nose, or piercing, or whatever I did to it last night. I am supposed to be a role model that is always calm and collected.

I just cannot admit to this stuff right now, not after hiding in my brothers apartment for a week and avoiding all contact with anyone from my town. I just can't admit to how low I let my self get.

So I continue to lay still, starting at the ceiling, trying to remember the best I can who the man next to me is, and what happened last night because maybe if I know, I won't feel as much guilt.

But I still come up blank. I still have no idea who this man is. I have no idea what we did together. How I met him or what even led up to me meeting him. And that bugs me.

"Good morning Quinn." A rough, husky voice says lowly, and I internally cringe, he's awake. He remembered my name. That's a good thing- I guess.

"Morning." I whisper, not looking at him.

He keeps his arm wrapped loosely around my waist, just lying comfortably for a few moments in silence making me think that he was the clingy type. Normally men preferred bang, sleep, wake up, then leave.

"Are you okay?" He asks, making me look up at him for the second time this morning, but this time I drink in his features. He has a strong jaw line, inky black hair in a surfer cut, and almond shaped eyes. He was hot to say the very least.

"Quinn," He questions me, bringing me back to the real world.

"What?" I ask him, trying my best to pay attention. The thoughts of the fact of what I've done still clouding my mind, keeping me from really paying attention to anything.

He looks at me, concern written all over his face, "I asked if you were okay."

I suck in a breath, biting in both of my lips as I do. Was I okay? No. Was I going to tell him? I don't think so.

So I stay silent. I mean for all I know he could be a serial killer that I slept with.

I am not going to say I make the right choices in guys to bang- I mean obviously since he could be a killer- but at least he is hot. So there's that.

"You don't remember a thing do you?" He asks me, pain laced in his voice, but I can tell he is trying to cover it up.

"I don't"

"Do you remember at least who I am?" He asks me hopefully.

Yeah he's totally clingy.

Maybe I should have bolted when I woke up, then I really would have avoided all my problems.

I just shake my head, and his face contorts in pain, but he covers it with a thin line, straight face, and he take he arm off of me and starts to get up. Revealing the true extent of his eight pack abs and the tight fabric of his Calvin Klein boxers.

The is honestly no way to say he is not hot. His muscles strain as he pulls on his jeans, and he looks around the room for his shirt, then he looks at me, realization dawning on him, a broad smile gracing his grim face. But then back to a poker face a quick as it came.

"You can keep the shirt, it looks better on you anyway. Goodbye Quinn." He tells me, looking at the wall as he says it, and goes to walk out the door.

"Wait, can I at least know who you are?" I ask him. And no not for some cliché reason, but because if something goes wrong, and when I go get tested for STD, I need to know who I need to kill for giving it to me.

You know what normal girls and boys should be doing after they have sex with a new person.

"MK Willis." He says, looking back at me one last time then leaving my room still without a shirt, shutting the door silently.

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