Crown of Sins - Chaelisa

-Chapter Twenty-

*Lisa's POV*

The world comes crashing into my poor, pounding head, all at once.

The sun smacks me in the face, through my eyelids somehow, despite their being closed, when I roll over. And my stomach seems to miss the memo, because it rolls the other way. Oh, my fucking god. How much did I drink last night?

The last thing I remember is Shawn ordering some god-awful shot that was about to congeal if I didn't drink it fast enough. Did I puke?

Jesus, I'm too old to be this hungover. As I blink a few times, looking around my bedroom for some sign of what I did in the missing time. Not that I'm sure I want to know. Thank fuck I left my car at the gala before we went to the bar. Though, that begs the question of how I even got home.

I struggle to sit up, my stomach doing another maneuver that I'm not sure I approve of in the process, and take a few deep breaths before standing.

This is why they invented bathrooms connected to bedrooms.

It only takes a few steps for me to get there, but it might as well be a mile for how long it takes. And then, when my eyes regrettably find my face in the mirror, my own bark of laughter hurts my ears. It's followed by a quick headache that I hadn't realized was pounding until right now.

But, yeah cool, we'll just add that to the list of reasons I'm never drinking again. At least, for the moment, I don't think I'm going to puke, as I pull the sticky note from my forehead. That's what made me laugh before.

Though all traces of hilarity wipe themselves from both my face and everywhere else when I pull it closer to read. I'm not actually sure how I didn't feel the damn note taped to my face before I saw it, but I also can't read it standing up.

So, my ass finds the high-end marble tile of the floor before I start squinting to decipher the handwriting. It's not that it's illegible; actually it's pretty. Way to pretty to be my own. I'm not that clever when I'm drunk either, to leave myself clues.

When I'm able to focus on the words, I know right away who wrote them. Not that I've ever seen her handwriting. So there's no reason I'm so sure. But I do know it's from Rosie.

Lisa,

Sometime when you're more in control of your capacity to provide consent, you should come back and start another fight with me some night.

Xoxo

I shouldn't smile in response. I should not be fucking smiling at her note, at that request. Because I don't remember going over to Rosie's place. I don't remember one second with her. But I'm very sure she does.

And that's when my stomach decides to start turning itself inside out.