CHAPTER EIGHT: SHAKEN SHACKLES
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Clutching my bedsheets in discomfort, a pained groan escapes my throat. My entire body is sore and sticky with sweat. The atrocious and revolting aftertaste of vomit lingers in my mouth and I am reminded that my mouth is dry from dehydration.
Stupid alcohol.
Squinting, I crack my eyes open, the dull light from the windows irritating me. Hastily, I shut my eyes once more, mentally preparing myself for the upcoming hardships of the aftereffects of excessive drinking.
Getting drunk is really a pain.
When I sit up, I am attacked by vertigo and the room begins to spin in circles like a moving tire. Tossing the covers off of my body I bolt towards the bathroom, practically throwing the door off its hinges as I lunge for the toliet, vomiting my intestines out.
The color that floods the toilet is grim and disgusting. My body continues to heave and the process of throwing up is continuous until all of the contents of my stomach from the night beforehand have disappeared, as well as some acid too.
If I wasn't already dehydrated when I woke up, I surely would be now.
Finally, I stand and place the lid of the seat down before flushing the toilet clean and moving to the sink to rinse my mouth. Scooping a handful of water, I tip it into my parred lips, swishing the cool liquid around before spitting it out. After two more handfuls of water, I shut off the faucet and head back to my room, leaning against the wall as support.
The dizziness from earlier has faded into a slight buzz. Only a slight feeling of light-headedness remains, as if I had been placed on a chair and spun around for minutes on end before being released to my own bearings. Although not the most favorable, it would have to suffice temporarily before I took ibuprofen and had a few glasses of water.
With light patters of my feet against the cold wooden floor of my house and the slight creaking of loose tiles of wood, I reach my room and step in, finally acknowledging the area I woke up in.
The lace curtains for my window are pulled open slightly, granting the barely raised sun to shine its warm rays inside my room to project an ethereal look. My room smells vaguely of mixed fruits, alcohol, rosewood, as well as patchouli, but I pay no attention to the last two scents. It was probably one of the girl's colognes rubbing off on me. It smells like something Tsuyu or Momo would wear.
Moving closer to my bed, I pick up the sheets from the ground and toss them onto the bed, revealing a rather expensive looking letterman jacket with two distinct colors: red and white. The cuffs and collar of the jacket had two white stripes and one red stripe in the middle, and the arms were a pure white while the torso of the clothing was a sultry and exquisite red. On the left of the chest area, there were initials embedded into it.
T.S.
Todoroki Shoto.
Instinctively I want to throw the letterman jacket across the room and stomp on the luxurious sleeves, but I refrain from doing so. Instead delicately, as if I were handling a baby, I slip my hand into the pockets, searching for some sort of clue; a memory- hint.
Just something to ground myself on other than this mere jacket.
The Shoto Todoroki, Number Three Hero, one of my biggest rivals and somebody so many hero fans matchmake me with took me home last night? Now that is unbelievable.
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SCINTILLA.BNHA VARIOUS
Fiksi Penggemar❝So what if I refuse your help? It's not like I asked you for it in the first place. You just forced yourself into my life without my permission. ❞ (Y/N) (L/N) has always been a phenomenal hero. From her beginning days in UA until now, she has alway...
