Camryn Quinn is finally getting what she wants...sort of. Moving into a dorm and away from her not so supportive father is a good first step, but like everything with him, it comes with strings. She must attend the college of his choosing for at lea...
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A car alarm is chirping outside my window before the sun is even up. I want to write a letter to the creators of cars to inform them that it's entirely too loud. But it's the taste in my mouth that stops me. It's like I swallowed a whole bag of cotton balls, but not before they were soaked in pickle juice and then set on fire and then placed into my mouth to be extinguished. The lack of moisture on my tongue and in my throat is paralyzing. I can't even swallow.
I somehow muster up a little whimper as I pull my blanket even higher over my head. I need at least six more hours of sleep, but I wouldn't be mad if I slipped into a coma for a few weeks.
Inhaling deeply, a woodsy scent—like pine mixed with something else, caresses my nostrils. It reminds me of Taylor and the way the smell of his soap overpowers the tutoring room when he comes straight from a post practice shower.
I'm amazed that his scent is still on me over a day later. But why would it even be on me? I make sure to keep a clear, socially acceptable distance of six feet between us at all times. It's strictly for my safety, and his. My eyes spring open with realization. Images from the night before come flooding into my mind.
Me, Drunk.
Me, drunk and stumbling up the stairs of Taylor's house.
Me, drunk, and using the railing on Taylor's porch as a balance beam to prove my missed calling as an Olympic gymnast. While also yelling his name.
I did all of those things only after begging a random man outside of the Brew Mart to buy me a bottle of cheap vodka. My dad took my fake ID after The Incident, and I haven't gotten another one. I haven't needed another one.
It was only once I had the brown paper bag in hand after giving the man thirty dollars to buy three of his own bottles, that I just started walking. I didn't even know where to go. I just knew I didn't want to feel.
Somehow that led me here. To Taylor.
I push up onto my elbows, slowly letting my surroundings come into focus. Sparsely furnished, and littered with State football paraphernalia.
Yup, not my room.
I do, however, see my phone and crossbody purse sitting on a bookshelf next to the bed. Right below it, is a deserted pile of blankets and a pillow.
Taylor put my drunken self into his bed and then slept on the floor? Exhale... Taylor took care of my drunken self and let me stay in his bed. I made the poor man sleep on the floor in his own room after showing up completely wasted.
I turtle into my sweatshirt and groan.
I reach an arm out of my shell and grab my phone. It's only six o'clock in the morning? Another groan escapes my throat. I forgot how early I wake up when I drink. But that's because I haven't drank in two years...
