Little Lies

12. A Rough Night

There are many things in my life I can say that I regret, and last night was one-hundred percent one of them.

My head throbs painfully and my feet feel like they're stepping on legos constantly. This is what I get for going out when I knew I had a meeting this morning. Karma always has a lovely way of catching back up to me. I shouldn't complain, either way I had a great time, even if a fair few things ended up happening that left me aching with need and not satisfied at all. But I guess that if anything, I should be apologizing profusely. Especially to the man who I'm supposed to be seeing this morning. After what happened last night, I'm surprised he even wants to see me. Let alone hire me. Or maybe this is all an elaborate ploy to kill me. I'd most certainly deserve that.

I don't even want to think of his face when he found me. Not that I could, I can hardly remember anything after I fell and hit my head.

The previous night...

My eyes danced around the club, hazy and unfocused, trying to find the mystery man that left me high and dry. I've never felt so much ache between my thighs in my life. The way his husky voice whispered in my ear. It was like he was some kind of sex god, hell bent of getting me worked up, and then leaving me as soon as he was no longer interested. But if that was the case, then why did he say those final words to me?

How could I possibly deny such a gorgeous girl?

Was he seriously talking about me? And did that mean he was going to come back for more? God, this stupid man has gotten me all worked up. I hate men. None of them know how to communicate and when they do, they say all the wrong things. What can you do?

As I continue to look around in my drunken state, I realize I can't even see that massive footballer who I was making out with. Does this mean I'll have to start all again in finding a dude? All I wanted was some dick and then to leave before it got too late. But now that I'm already in the thick of it, I may as well go all in. There's got to be a man around somewhere that wants to fuck.

I sway to the beat as I try to dazzle another man with my charms. This one is skinny and has shaggy blonde hair that looks like it hasn't been brushed in five weeks. He's got nice taste in clothes though, so I'll give him that. But that's where the good about ends. The rest of him is meh. But I can work with that. So I saunter up to him and we make eye contact. He gives me a once over and opens himself up to me, so I place my hands on his shoulders and sway my hips.

I'm about to lower my hips to his—because I'm taller—but as if deja vu is occurring, I am yanked back away, and this time I actually fall to the ground, hitting my head against the hard floor. I think I even heard a crack, but I can hardly be sure with all of the music pounding and people yelling. I cry out in pain as it blossoms around my skull, leaving me more disorientated than I was before. And before I can even get my bearings, I'm hauled back off of the floor and dragged through the crowd by my arm.

People stare with shocked looks and snickers, but I don't have the capacity to care what they think. All I can focus on is that a random person is dragging me through the club to lord knows where to do lord knows what with me. I don't have much energy to be scared, but my body is clearly terrified as it shakes furiously. This night is definitely not turning out to be what I wanted it to be. And on top of that, I don't even know where Rory is.

Is she alright, is she safe? I hope she's doing better than I am, because at this rate, I don't know if I'll be around to witness the sun ever again.

I'm dragged past the main dance floor until I find myself tripping backwards over stairs. "Move." The person dragging me, sternly says. I don't think this guy has ever dealt with a drunk person before. Because when he says move, all I can think of is staying put.