༼i-message + real life༽
main girls gc: ¡the clown car¡
max - max🪐
noah - noah 🍇
sof - sof🐸
¡mistakes were made¡
noah 🍇
max, where are you
sof🐸
it's getting kinda late
noah 🍇
did you go home with someone
or are you at home?
sof🐸
max?
noah 🍇
MAXINE MARINA CLARE, DID
YOU GET HOME SAFE???
sof🐸
jesus christ, we're
KINDA WORRIED
if you can imagine that
noah 🍇
just text us when
you can, ok?
i'm kinda worried
that you're not ok
sof🐸
i love you,
max.
I wake up in a room I've never so much as seen a glimpse of, perfectly alone, in a white tee-shirt and nothing else. My head hurts like a bitch, and even the slight wind whistling outside is too much. I open my eyes, and then immediately close them when a ray of sunlight filters in through the window, and pierces into my skull like I've been stabbed.
I must've gotten really drunk last night, though I can barely remember. I remember giving someone head in a bathroom, that person leaving with his girlfriend, and then absentmindedly flirting with someone else. I remember red LED lights, and low moans, and my hands in someone's hair, and pleasure like I've only felt a few times in my life.
I can't help but think that last night was one of those nights where it might be hard to walk for a few days afterwards. I don't really mind though.
After a few more moments of just sitting in this soft bed, I open my eyes and prop myself up. My phone is on the nightstand, and I reach over to grab it almost immediately. Noah and Sof have collectively called about fifty times, the voicemails getting increasingly worried every time.
I quickly text them, just to say that I'm okay, and then look around this room to try and find my clothes. They're lying in a pile by the door, so I step out of bed and literally hobble over to where my clothes are.
shit.
My dress is ripped, and it looks like my underwear was fucking cut off my body, so that's not totally going to do its job. My bra is, luckily, still able to be used, though there's a broken button from when whoever the hell I fucked last night pulled it off.
But there's also a pair of boxers that aren't mine, and a hoodie, so I pull both of those on. I'm incredibly sore, and it's difficult to just walk into the door that I'm guessing leads to a bathroom.
Problem is, it doesn't. Instead, I'm out on a landing looking out over this house that I'm in. I can hear voices downstairs, distinctly male voices, and i'm tired and hungover and alone and have literally no idea what's fucking going on and i just want to go home.
And then a door opens, and someone walks out of their room. It's a tall guy, with curly blonde hair and a small smile. "You ok?" he asks me, a worried look on his face, and I shake my head.
"who's room were you in?" he asks, and i point to the room. He shakes his head, groaning. "that's the fucking guest room..... shit."
great
∞
The boy, who's name is Jordan, takes me to his room, where I shower and get an extra change of clothes. He's really nice, even when I tell him that I can't remember who I was with last night.
He laughs when I tell him about Blake and the blow job. "that fucker" is all he says, but he's laughing when he says it and I can tell that he has a begrudging love for these boys that he lives with.
We walk downstairs together, and I'm weirdly terrified. I'm used to hookups, and the weird morning after, but I always know WHO it is i'm hooking up with. And, usually i'm not fucking famous guys. I guess that's changed....
"morning." Jordan nods to the boys sitting around a table. They look at me weirdly, in his's clothes, and then raise their eyebrows at Jordan, almost in sync. "we didn't hook up." Jordan rolls his eyes at the boys, and then passes me a piece of toast.
"then why the hell is she in your clothes" the guy asking this is a little bit shorter, and seemingly older, with brown hair and glasses.
"because she fucking came out of the guest room in a hoodie, looking like she was about to vomit, and with no clue what was going on. so, obviously I helped her out. even though it WASN'T. MY. FUCKING. JOB."
Jordan's clearly had to do this before, because he's seemingly angry. Not at me, but at the house of boys he lives with. I bite into my toast quietly, fidgeting with the drawstring of Jordan's hoodie.
"wait, so she was just in the guest room?"
"Yes, Griffin." Jordan rolls his eyes, and Griffin has a confused expression on his face. My head still hurts like shit, and I'm realizing that I usually have taken my meds by this time. My brain is bouncing off the walls, and it's impossible to focus.
"jesus christ...." Griffin laughs, but it's not a good laugh. "she has no idea who she fucked, does she? God, what a slut...."
i ball my hands into fists, fucking pissed at this asshole. It's not my fault that I was left in this fucking house, I didn't leave myself here. Someone, someone who lives in this house and is probably sitting at that fucking table right now, is just letting me get berated by this asshole.
The pitch in the room rises and rises.....
i pass out moments later.
word count: 941
