JOSEPHINE
Fuck me, my head is pounding. My head feels busy and full, like building work is going on in there or something. With every soft movement, a fresh bang hits me. I've not been this hungover in a long time. I must've drunk more than I thought. Sitting up carefully, I cradle my head with my hand keeping my eyes closed to help me get my bearings. I'm never drinking again. This is awful. I don't feel sick or anything, I just feel... shit. Utter shit.
Slowly, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, pausing for a second before pushing up to stand. I take my time before my legs are at full extension. There's no way I'm doing anything today. I'm doing absolutely nothing and nursing this hangover I've given myself. Don't get me wrong, I had a great time with Mia last night but Jesus Christ, I'd forgotten that the girl can drink me under the table. She always has been able to, even at university. But that doesn't stop me from trying to keep up with her, pretty much everytime we go out.
Carefully, I begin to pace towards my wide open bedroom door and grab my robe from the back of it. Wrapping myself up, I take myself out of my bedroom and pace gradually down the corridor and to the kitchen. With every step I take the pounding in my head intensifies. A fresh bang ricocheting off my skull. I need pills. This isn't going away on its own. So I carry myself through the living area, the mere thought of watching TV at the minute makes my head hurt even more, and into the kitchen. Staying as silent as I can, wanting absolutely no sound right now, I open the cabinet door and reach inside for some Paracetamol. I close it over, keeping hold until the door is flush back in place and then grab one of the glasses from the drainer and fill it with water. Rather than delay, I pop the two pills into my mouth and wash them down. Hopefully that'll sort me, but my bed is calling me again.
I take hold of the water and head back into my bedroom. As I wander back in, I see my phone and remember I need to text Mia to tell her I got home safely. I don't remember an awful lot when it comes to coming home last night. I see the pile of clothes I was wearing last night on the floor, but I'll deal with those later. I just need to lie down and chill, maybe go back to sleep. That'll sort me out. It has in the past. I sit myself down on the edge of the bed and take hold of my phone, loading up mine and Mia's message thread. I also see another waiting for me but I'll sort that after Mia.
Morning. I feel like shit. Hope you're not as delicate as me at work!
I hit send and prop myself up on the pillow, pulling the duvet up under my arms to keep nice and warm. I hop back into my message and see the other is from Hero. I smile, opening it up, reading his first message to me.
Good morning, funny girl. How's your head :)
I smile but slowly, I feel my face drop as my eye catches the message above. And then the one above that. Fuck. Shit. Bollocks. What the fuck did I message him last night? My heartbeat quickens as utter mortification rushes through my pounding head as a wave of embarrassment crashes over me. My eyes are wide, glaring at the incoherent messages I sent him last night. Shit, I don't remember any of this. And none of it is coming back to me while I scroll slowly, trying to decipher what the fuck I was trying to say. Jesus, I've never felt embarrassment like this. And to message him like this, of all people too. What the fuck have I done?
Can I text him back? I've totally embarrassed myself over fucking text with Hero Fiennes Tiffin. What if he's only messaging me because he feels like he has to now? It wouldn't surprise me if I message him back and never hear from him again. Not after my antics last night. What must he think of me? And to top it all off, I sent him a pissing selfie. I look... ridiculous. And feel exactly that way too.
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Let Me In | Herophine Fic
FanfictionAfter heartbreak, it's hard to give anyone the key to your heart again. Prime footballer, Hero's heart has already been broken once but not in the way that usually springs to mind. No cheating, no hatred. Something much worse. But the things that h...