Lost my reputation | B.E.

Chapter 13: what you know

Narrator: someone

On December 17th, Y/N wakes up in Silver Lake completely naked, tangled in sheets that don't belong to her nor smell like her. They don't smell very familiar, either, so she waits a few minutes, blinking her tired eyes open. She waits for the world to shift into focus, her foggy brain barely enough to keep things from running through her mind.

She ignores it though, stretching her limbs and closing her eyes again.

Only a couple of seconds pass until it finally hits her: the day it is - what time it must be.

Y/N's heart drops and starts back up full speed, and she sits up, linen pooling at her waist as she looks around the room, frantic. Her eyes finally land on a dusty digital clock that looks like it's been here for ages, yet, the bold letters seem to make sense; 10:43 pm.

Y/N breathes a sigh of relief, and it's kind of fucked up what happens in her head, really. And maybe that makes her even more of an inconsiderate asshole, but the fear of having overstayed completely made her forget about the person sleeping next to her – someone she'd shared intimacy with only a couple of hours ago.

As if they hadn't been straight up strangers pretending no territory was forbidden.

So they'd fucked and fucked and fucked again and Y/N had drowned, drowned and drowned again because she was bored, and it seemed like a good enough way to pass the time.

Except that now, she's stuck in a bed covered by linen sheets – seriously, who even likes that? – and her brain can only come up with two strategies; jolt the girl awake or make a dash straight for the door.

She contemplates both ideas, and she genuinely wonders if there'd be any away any of these decisions could salvage whatever is left of herself. 

So she sits there, completely naked and ponders waking the girl up until she decides she'd rather leave before the sleeping body comes back to life. She knows how much of a cowardly move it is, but in her honest opinion, it's better to give people a taste of what they're settling for instead of going for the painful, awkward conversations.

She sighs heavily and gets out of bed as silently as possible, but fuck, who knew linen sheets could be so stiff. Y/N damns the silence of the night, because even the fabric sliding on her skin sounds too harsh, but thankfully, her feet land on the floor soundlessly, the shift of her weight muffled by the carpet floors.

The light of the streetlamps filtering through the curtains make the room light enough that Y/N easily spots her clothes where she'd left them – thrown them - earlier. Awkwardly wobbling on one leg and the other – it's pathetic, really - she slips on her underwear as quickly as possible, shoves her shirt down her chest, and with her jeans and phone in hand, she makes her way out.

Y/N closes the door behind her as softly as she can manage, a quiet breath leaving her mouth once she realizes she's made it out without any trouble. It feels like a true miracle, and Y/N can't help feeling delighted with herself – she could cry with relief, actually – the excited urge to fist pum-

"Hey,"

Startled, Y/N's heart jumps and she jolts around in panic. Through the darkness of the apartment, she locks eyes with someone – a guy that must be about her age - sitting at the dining table, stirring a spoon in a bowl of cereals.

Awkwardly shuffling on her feet, Y/N can only assume it is one of her lover's roommates, and it's clear she doesn't know what to say at all, nor how to introduce herself. Figuring that a 'Hey, I just fucked your roommate' introduction wouldn't leave a very good first impression, Y/N settles for a shy greeting instead.