❝𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝗴𝗮𝗺𝗲❞

2.

DELILAH

I'm convinced that if you want to torture somebody, you should wake them up the morning after a hangover with an iPhone ringtone. It'll ruin your whole year. 

Groaning with my head in my pillow, I fumble blindly around for my phone, begging the lord to make the sound stop otherwise my head was actually going to implode. Eventually, the sound did stop, which only made me stress that I had missed an important call. 

I just love my life. 

Sitting up, I find myself, not on my bed, but on the sofa of my hotel, wearing only an oversized Beatles shirt and my underwear. I didn't even remember getting out of my dress last night. Matter of fact, I didn't really remember... anything about last night. 

I find my phone in the cracks of the sofa, and see that the call had been from my manager, Tanya Morrison. I groan, knowing exactly what she was calling about. 

I lost the Brits Award, that much I remember. Now we have to discuss what happens next. 

Glancing back at my phone, I read the time. 12:34. No wonder I'm so hungry. 

Trying to get situated with myself, I find a claw clip on the coffee table in front of me and put my completely tangled hair (that still has hints of hairspray, eugh) into it, standing up and rubbing my eyes. 

A knock at my door makes me flinch, and I groan some more before walking over and opening it, forgetting the state I'm in. Tanya's startlingly grey eyes find mine, looking furious. 

Looking me up and down, she sighs and shakes her head, her eccentric, dangly green earrings swaying with it. 

"Please, come inside," I mutter as she lets herself into the room. 

"Come on darl, we gotta go," she says in her heavy Australian accent as she stands with her hands on her hips in the middle of the living room. 

"Morning to you as well." 

"Morning?" she scoffs. "Please. Put some pants on and get a move on." 

"I don't remember having anything scheduled for today," I say, rubbing my temple which was still throbbing. 

"Well now you do. Please love, wash your face, we have business to attend to," she sits on the sofa, putting the large laptop bag she was always carrying on her lap as she stares at me expectantly. 

"Well, I need to find clothes-" 

"Nevermind the shirt," she dismisses as she looks around the state of the sofa. "Just put this on," she throws some grey sweatpants she finds scattered on the couch. 

"I got home really late last night," I find myself saying, trying to justify the messiness. "Can you just tell me where we're going?" 

"No time, get yourself together and then we really have to go." 

Sauntering over to the bathroom, I glance at myself in the mirror. Yeah... I really do need to wash my face. The makeup from the night before had smeared all over, my red lipstick smudged onto my cheek and mascara making me look like I had a black eye. 

I finish washing and walk back out to see Tanya tapping away on her phone, her incredibly long acrylic nails making the sound echo throughout the hotel. 

"Chop chop, put some shoes on and let's go," she jumps off the couch and heads to the door. I pop on some uggs and follow her, too tired to argue or care how I looked. 

I really hope we're not going anywhere important. 

As we drive along the highway, me still with a pounding head, Tanya keeps muttering under her breath.