Jawbreaker ❆ Tom Kaulitz

[ 21 ] Bad Idea, Right?

   

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21. Bad Idea, Right?
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I feel the weight of an arm draped over my abdomen as my consciousness slowly creeps back in, and I realise that I'm naked. My eyes shoot open, my head pounding violently as last night's events start coming back to me all at once.

                Oh, fuck. I suck in a sharp breath, my gaze cautiously moving from the arm on my stomach and towards the sleeping figure beside me. Slowly, slowly, slowly... double fuck.

                I slept with Tom Kaulitz last night.

                My stomach lurches, and at first I'm convinced that it's the thought of having sex with Tom but then I remember that I fucking drank alcohol last night. Nothing about this situation is good.

Panicking inwardly, I carefully reach down to lift his wrist off my stomach and drop it on the bed beside me before climbing out. I reach for one of the sheets that somehow managed to find its way onto the floor last night and wrap it around my body, freezing in place as Tom stirs in the bed.

                I stand there rigidly for a minute, eyes wide, waiting to see if he wakes up. He doesn't, he just turns over and shoves his face into the pillow, so I pad my feet across the wooden floors as quietly as I can and slip into the bathroom.

The overwhelming urge to throw up hits me like a ton of bricks and before I know it I'm hunched over the toilet, retching. I think I've officially hit rock bottom.

After a few minutes of emptying my guts into the toilet, I sit on my knees in front of it with my head in my hands and rethink every single life choice I've ever made up until this moment. I drank alcohol. I had sex with Tom. Two of the worst decisions I have ever made in my life.

                And then I think about how I told Tom I'd never had an orgasm during sex and I start to throw up again. At this point, I'm fully convinced that the Devil possessed my spirit last night. There are simply no words to describe how absolutely mortified I am right now.

                After a good few minutes of burying my head in the toilet bowl, the nausea finally starts to subside and I force myself up off the bathroom floor, stumbling over to the sink to get a good look at myself. My jaw immediately goes slack as I see the state I'm currently in — mascara smeared under my eyes, ratty hair sticking up in different directions, and a hickey the size of Germany itself planted right where my shoulder meets my neck.

                An anguished gasp escapes me and I clap my hand over my mouth, my gaze travelling downwards towards my chest. I drop the sheet, only to discover the hickeys that line the curve of my right breast. "What the fuck?" I mutter to myself, my mind flipping between wondering if I slept with a fucking vampire and wondering why he seemed to have neglected my left.

                I look up again, my pale reflection staring back at me. The sterile light of the bathroom seems to accentuate every single flaw, every little regret etched into my face. Taking a deep breath, I steel myself against the sink when the door suddenly bursts open and I lock eyes with Tom through the mirror.