Kiss

Chapter 2

I awaken to the relentless pounding of a massive headache. What transpired? Where am I, and why am I clad in someone else's garments?

As I survey the disarray around me, my eye catches my dress, carelessly strewn across the grimy floor. My heels lay scattered haphazardly, their once-proud elegance reduced to mere remnants of a night gone awry. The room itself resembles a chaotic disaster, a veritable eyesore of neglect. What on earth is this place? I've never encountered such desolation in my entire life. Rising slowly, I reach for my dress, but my hands instinctively shield my eyes from the cruel glare of the morning sun.

After a moment's struggle, I manage to retrieve my dress and slip it on, gathering my heels with a mix of resignation and haste before discarding the hoodie that seems utterly foreign to me.

I grasp the doorknob, my heart racing with the hope it will turn—and thankfully, it does. Had it failed to open, I surely would have spiraled into a panic attack.

Downstairs lies a scene of utter disarray—sleepy, half-drunken revelers in various states of dishevelment. It's in moments like these that I wish I had my phone. I push open the front door and embark on the long two-hour trek home.

Searching for Addison and Sam feels futile. They would likely be too inebriated to drive or long gone by now.

I regret attending this party. My parents must be beside themselves with worry. I still have assignments pending, and my head throbs relentlessly. By the time I arrive home, exhaustion will render me unable to tackle anything.

It appears I'll have to sacrifice my precious reading hours tomorrow to catch up before Monday's deadlines.

I loathe parties.

With each mile that passes, I vow never to partake in another party for the remainder of my college life. The events of last night are shrouded in foggy recollection, but I remember a guy bringing me upstairs.

What if we... did something?

I shudder at the thought, grappling with the unsettling reality that I don't even know his name. Is this who I've become? Engaging with strangers and forgetting their names? This recklessness was foolish of me; I should have stayed home, where I belonged.

As I walk, a nearby trash can begins to rattle ominously, as though it harbors something rebellious within. The lid suddenly flies off, crashing onto the pavement as the contents erupt into the air like a mini tornado of refuse.

It's eerie.

With one more mile to go, I attempt to concoct a convincing excuse for my parents, but every notion eludes me, leaving only a swirl of disorganization in my mind.

Suddenly, several more trash cans erupt into chaotic motion, spewing their insides in a frenzied spiral. I forget the state of my footwear and break into a panicked run, driven by an instinct I can't comprehend. The street feels haunted.

Finally, I reach my porch, breathless and weary, the throbbing in my head intensifying. I can only imagine my parents standing just inside the door, arms crossed and eyes filled with disappointment.

Fortunately, the living room is blissfully empty. I tread cautiously up the stairs, mindful of every squeak and creak beneath my steps.

If I don't get it together, I might just fail. I try to steady my nerves, but the thought of becoming a college drop-out siphons the air from my lungs. The very notion of failure sends a rush of anxiety through me. I finally arrive at my room, and I can almost hear the bed calling my name: "Katie, Katie, come sink into my softness."

It doesn't have to ask me twice. I dive into the embrace of my sky-blue sheets, reveling in their softness. Yet, despite my tiredness, sleep eludes me. Questions swirl in my mind, and I need to contact Addison. With lazy determination, I stretch for my phone on the nightstand. I can't locate it, so I reach a bit further—until I unwittingly knock it to the floor. The sudden sound jolts me upright; luckily, my phone is intact.