Forget My Name - H.S

CHAPTER 5

CALLIE PRESTON

I wake up to a sharp ringing in my ears, sounding loud enough for a dog down the road to hear. My eyes seem to be glued shut and my head is pounding. I can't even remember half of what happened last night. After about 2 minutes, I peel my eyes open and adjust to the bright light that was shining directly at me through the gap in the curtains. I rub them and yawn, which only made my ears pop and the ringing get louder. I must've been hammered. I roll over in the bed seeing the duvet was risen, covering another sleeping body. I trace my eyes up to the messy blonde hair and the bare shoulders that were poking out from the duvet.

Fuck. Did I? I couldn't have.

He must have noticed the crinkling sound of the duvet as I turned, causing him to dart his head back and flip over to face me. As he did, the duvet fell down his body further, exposing his toned chest and arms.

"Morning." He says, his Irish accent very prominent and his voice raspy and deep from just waking up. I looked at his eyes, noticing they were extremely bloodshot.

"Morning," I repeat back to him, trying my best to smile, but my head hurt so much it was hard to do anything. "Did we? You know, last night?"

My throat hurts and I need water. But the thought of consuming any more liquid is making me feel sick.

"No, no. Of course not." His face turns into a worried look. "I would never take advantage of someone when they're blackout drunk." Great, I was black out drunk.

"Thank you? I guess?" I say back to him. I bury my head further into the cold white pillow, sliding my hand up beneath my cheek to rest on.

"I brought you back here because you told me over and over that you couldn't go home as you were. Stella came back with us and helped change you into one of my t-shirts and boxers, so I haven't seen you naked don't worry. I offered for her to stay here too but she said she'd rather go home." He explains, pushing himself up to sit against the headboard so the duvet only covered his waist down. He had a very toned body with not a single tattoo in sight, which shocked me seeing as Louis and Harry had loads.

"Thank you," I say, like before, keeping my eyes open and looking up at him. "Was I really that bad? I feel like shit."

"I've seen worse." He shrugs and laughs. He didn't seem too hungover. Maybe he didn't drink much or just held his alcohol very well.

"I barely remember anything. The last thing that happened was Harry giving my phone back and then us all going back into the kitchen for shots. I don't know what you gave me, but it fucked me up."

I manage to sit up next to him, noticing that I'm wearing a large blue and white striped top and plain black boxer briefs.

"Well yeah. Basically, Harry gave your phone back and whispered something to you that you didn't seem to like. I don't know what though. Then we went into the kitchen and I offered you a shot. You said you needed something strong to, and I quote, wash away your sorrows and all memories of that curly prick standing over there." He says, bending his index and middle fingers on each hand, mimicking speech marks. "Then you got absolutely plastered, insisted on getting high when you saw I had a joint in my pocket, then told me that I was your new best friend and cried telling me you felt really safe with me and seconds later you passed out on my lap. They say drunk words are sober thoughts, so I figured you'd be comfortable enough to come back here."

"And you'd be right." I reply, my head pounding and ears still ringing. I just wanted to sleep forever.

"Right," He starts to get out, the mattress dipping and rising so I was left alone in the white king-sized bed. "I'm making breakfast. Do you want any?"