CONTRADICTED STARS || L. PARTRIDGE [1 | EDITING]

21. Obliterated Reminiscence

MEETING CABRERA was an action striking a match and setting himself on fire. Only, he didn't burn to ashes, and instead just stood there and felt all the pain yet got so astounded by the blazing embers. It was like dying, but living at the same time. He didn't know how to put it out or when, but as soon as he saw water, he had the urge to resist it—be scared of it, even.

Like the conflagration became a part of him.

That's how Louis described the girl. He tossed and turned in his bed. It was cold, then it suddenly got hot. Both sides of his pillows were in a high temperature and he just can't get himself to get comfortable. Louis sat up, touching his lips.

'I still hate you.' Her voice echoed through the empty halls of his fuzzy edifice where thoughts processed so progressively.

"God, Cabrera."

༉‧₊˚.

CABRERA'S POINT OF VIEW

WAKING UP IS A DISAPPOINTMENT.

An invisible vice squeezed my eyeballs along with my temple as I groaned. All my attempts to remember all events that happened last night were futile as all I knew was the moment I . . . slapped Louis?

I quickly sat up upon my realisation, only to feel like my brain pounded along with the sting. I winced and blinked numerously. My hand found itself slapping my head twice with the thought that it would help. However, I felt even worse—way worse when I saw myself in the same dress I went to the party in. The stench of alcohol lingered on my body as I wretched as if I was about to puke out all the contents of my stomach.

Yes, I was.

Running in the bathroom, I closed the door and did my thing, washing my face after. I tried to shake my head countless times and nothing seemed to work.

My body collapsed on the bed, turning to the white wooden desk next to me. That's when I saw a mini box with a brown ribbon perfectly tied in a knot. I furrowed my eyebrows at the sight of it and despite the aching pain, I grabbed it and arched an eyebrow in curiosity.

I'm glad untying it wasn't frustrating. Taking the square box lid, I saw two cherry red hairpins and a note.

༉‧₊˚.

Cabrera,

I remember when you said you hate going outside without your hairpins because you end up eating strands of them while running, so I thought I'd give you a pair for next time when we run late to class.

I wouldn't want your fist flying to my face. Have a great birthday, and please, try to control your temper next time? I think you scared Sharapova.

Not that I'm complaining.

Cheers to your 18th,
Partridge

༉‧₊˚.

I sucked in a breath as I tried to refrain myself from smiling. This is not a good sign. Smiling is never a good sign. I quickly crumpled the paper and threw it into the bin. I stared at the hairpins and licked my lips, grabbing them.

The clattering objects scared my soul while shoving them in the desk drawer. I was panicking.

'How could I let this happen? Perhaps I've lost my sanity?'

I paced back and forth, ignoring the racing pain in my head. I laughed.

'Funny. I've lost my sanity before meeting him. But, why am I—why is he—at least I got to slap him last night, right? I didn't even get any penalty.'