The Collector | 18+

【21】Out of Control

Nothing felt familiar when I woke up the next day, to the point where even my mattress seemed foreign. But it was indeed my sheets, my bed, and my room. The masculine body next to me, though, wasn't mine.

My curtains were drawn, but they were thin enough to allow the daylight inside. So, warily, I forced my eyes to open and glimpsed at the man beside me. The relief I felt upon seeing his dark and curly hair was short-lived. I hadn't planned on ending the night with anyone, but it seemed my post-breakup hoe phase had decided otherwise.

And I hadn't even gone through a breakup, which made things even more pathetic...

The man had his face turned toward me, sleeping soundly with a slight snore, and I vaguely recognized him from the club. We'd danced, kissed, and then... I couldn't remember anything else. But I must have brought him back here, because we were both naked in my bed.

I tried to sit up, only to be humbled by the pulsing pain in my skull. The hell had I done the evening before?!

My phone wasn't on the nightstand, where I usually left it, but I spotted it on the floor by the bed's foot. Remaining in bed, I stretched to grab it, holding back a groan of pain. I grimaced when I saw it had 3 percent battery left, and then noticed the time. It was nearly noon already. I plugged it and put it on my nightstand, worried it might die on me.

With a wary peer at the man whose name I couldn't even remember, I pushed the cover away and stood. Buck naked, I tiptoed to the bathroom, grabbing a T-shirt and shorts in my closet as I passed by it. The used condom in the trash can reassured me, but I still felt weird upon seeing it. I didn't feel bad about it happening, but I didn't like not remembering any of it. I smelled dirty and felt even worse, so I didn't waste any time hopping into the shower after locking the doors.

As the hot water flowed down my body-sore from the hangover and the run right before our outing-I tried to fill out the gaps that were missing. And there were a lot of gaps.

Also, why did I remember Mr. Westergaard being a part of it?

When some of it came back to me, I froze, absolutely horrified. No, I must be remembering it wrong... Much quicker than I'd been up to this point, I showered and shampooed in a blink before jumping out of the stall. Once I was dried and dressed, I returned to my bedroom, doing my best to be utterly silent.

I retrieved my barely charged phone from the nightstand and stood by the door. Terrified to discover if my vague memories were true, I opened my messages. Oh, shit... I had sent him the most cringe texts ever, full of errors, as well as a mortifying picture of me in the men's bathroom.

Shame crawled under my skin, crawling its way deep into my chest. I was never touching alcohol ever again. What the hell...

It got even worse when I realized he'd also called me, and we'd spoken for over five minutes. I could barely remember any of it, aside from small snippets here and there. Like me calling him a dick.

The man in my bed twisted in his sleep, reminding me that I had more than one reason to become sober. Once I was sure he wasn't awake, I sashayed to the living room. There, I found Gigi actively cooking something in the kitchen, as well as someone vaguely familiar sitting on our couch. They both turned my way and waved at me.

"You're the bartender," I recalled. Even with their light makeup off, they had very delicate traits, which were contradicted by an angular jawline. It was as though they were born to become androgynous, the perfect mix of the two hetero-normative genders. They were stunning, with the best of both worlds, which I'd failed to notice the evening before.

"Aye, I'm Vick." They extended their hand at me and I shook it. Their grip was firm and their skin soft.

I sat next to them with a sigh, only remembering then that I needed something for my headache. "Next time, force that water down my throat, please," I told them.