The Girly Watch Remade

Chapter 15 Wine-Drunk/70K Q and A

Lena stirs awake to the dull, throbbing drumbeat of a hangover pounding at the base of her skull. Bleary eyes blink open, and her entire body is awash in a soft, pulsing blue aura as her chronal accelerator's rewind ability sluggishly kicks in. She can feel the lingering effects of the alcohol being slowly reversed - her taxed liver resetting, her weary cells regenerating one by one until the insidious hangover slowly, mercifully dissipates.

Propping herself up on one elbow, Lena squints against the dim lighting as she takes stock of her surroundings. The living room is cloaked in darkness, silent save for the ambient ticking of a clock and her own ragged breathing. A quiet sigh escapes her lips as she forces herself into an upright seated position on the couch, nose wrinkling at the faint but unmistakable scent of stale wine still clinging to the fabric of her rumpled black shirt. A low groan rumbles in her throat - she'll have to thoroughly clean it later.

Pushing herself to her feet with effort, Lena trudges down the hallway, one hand trailing along the wall to steady herself in the pitch blackness. She pauses in the doorway to her bedroom, eyes narrowing as they slowly adjust, scanning the room's interior with building trepidation. Her gaze snags on the thrown over chair, a dark puddle of spilled wine fanning out beneath its legs on the hardwood floor. An empty bottle lays discarded atop her dresser, its presence feeling almost accusatory.

Lena racks her mind, brow furrowing as she struggles to recall the events of the previous night. Flashes of memory flicker through her mind.

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Brian's Point Of View

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Brian's throat tightens, each breath coming out in shaky, pained gasps. Slowly, he raises his palm to his neck, eyes widening as crimson liquid coats his skin. He watches in almost detached fascination as his shirt darkens to a deep red, the liquid spreading further across the fabric. A dull, distant pain shoots through his system.

His gaze darts upward, eyes wide and fearful. The last of the air in his lungs threatens to leave him faint. He looks to blue skin - the hand that knocked him to the ground still outstretched. Following the tense limb upward, his eyes focus on a face he's seen in nightmares before. Poised. Golden eyes fixed on him, staring with the intense focus of a predator.

From the corner of his eye, he registers Lena placing herself between him and the one who hurt him. Fragmented memories of the museum incident come swirling back to him. Adrenaline courses through his body, tensing his muscles as he scampers from the room. He runs out the door, crossing into the apartment.

A pair of arms wrap around him, holding him close against a source of warmth that hushes him with quiet, sweet tones. Brian's senses slowly return as a set of kind eyes behind thick-rimmed black glasses focus on him. "It will be alright," a thick Swiss accent soothes, putting him at ease despite the panic still thrumming beneath his skin.

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Awaken

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The pungent aroma of garlic hangs in the air, intermingling with the soothing scent of freshly baked bread. Brian's fingers interlock with the smooth coolness of another hand, the leather surrounding their skin a comforting texture. A calming light blue hue envelops his periphery as smooth jazz plays faintly. Something golden catches his eye, reflecting light. The sugary smell of cotton candy blends with the softness of fabric against his skin. Flashing lights dance across his vision. Intricately carved wooden doors, the rich chocolate color drawing his gaze. Granite countertops, cool and polished. A soft pillow beckons.

These fragments of memory pour over Brian, his hand reaching up to wipe the slick cold sweat from his brow. His mouth feels packed with cotton, throat so dry that even breathing sends needles prodding at his tonsils. His eyes struggle to open, fluttering briefly before the warm ambient light forces them closed again, a sharp pain lancing through. Turning onto his side, his nose burrows into a soft, squishy material as his eyes attempt to open once more. He catches a glimpse of pink and white, alarm bells firing through his head, propelling him into an upright seated position. His weary bones and body scream in protest, but he is now sitting, the bedcovers wrinkled around him.