One Song (A Script fanfic) (Completed)

Chapter 2

Here's the next chapter! :) Hope you like it, thanks so much for the comments :)

Selena's POV

My head pounded. I felt a sharp throbbing in my side, and my skull felt like it had been cleaved in two. A faint tune sounded in the distance, growing ever louder. I tried to ignore it.

Opening my eyes slowly, I blinked away the dried tears in my eyes. Why had I been crying again? My head couldn't answer that question. I sat up slowly, feeling every muscle and bone in my body strain and crack.

Slowly lifting my arms above my head, I stretched, groaning quietly. Then my brain started up. I went over everything I knew in my head, thoughts rushing through it like the wind.

1) My name is Selena Darte.

2) I am twenty three years old.

3) I am in Ireland.

4) I am from London.

5) Last night.... What happened last night again?

I lay back down sharply, then gripping my head as a wave of dizziness overcame me. I tried to remember what happened.

I remembered the excitement and joy I felt at The Script's concert. I had sung along happily to all of my favourite songs. Then Sam and I had headed to the club. I remembered Sam walking off with a tall guy, I remembered walking alone. Then I had run. I grimaced as I remembered the three men, the pain in my head, feet and ribs. So where was I now?

I started to focus on my surroundings. I was tucked into a large black leather double bed fitted with white sheets, pillows and duvet. My suede jacket was folded neatly at the foot of the bed. The bedroom was large enough, with a black and silver glass sliding wardrobe covering the far wall. The floor was carpeted in a thick black fabric and a few pieces of paper littered the floor next to the bed, while three of the walls were painted matte white, the wall behind the bed was black, with a thin silver stripe halfway up the wall. A gorgeous black electric guitar stood on a stand in one corner, next to a classic acoustic, polished carefully. Whoever lived here clearly loved their guitars. An amp stood in the opposite corner, plugged into the wall. I looked to the table next to the bed, looking for any signs of whose bed I was in. A few scraps of paper with scribbled music notes and lyrics lay crumpled on the table, along with a photo of three friends playing in a band.

I knew those people... The Script? What the hell was going on? I lay back in the bed, waiting for my headache to subside, then I heard the familiar tune again. It was someone playing a piano in the next room, singing along. I listened intently, identifying the lyrics.

"Take that rage.... Blow the roof off the place..." I sat up quickly, soon regretting it. My favourite song? This was getting weirder and weirder.

I got out of the bed slowly, wincing as I put weight on my shredded feet. I balanced myself carefully, waiting until the room had stopped spinning, then headed for the door. I opened it, then stepped out into the room beyond, not really knowing what to expect.

It was a flat, that was easy to see. The enormous living space was light and open, with a huge glass window filling most of the west wall. The whole city of Dublin was visible from it. Another door was to my left, a bathroom I assumed. At the far end of the room, opposite me, was a kitchen, with a long breakfast bar, wine and whiskey cupboard and a large fridge. I smiled at the thought of food.

In the centre of the room was the main living space, a few steps led down to it from the kitchen and two white leather corner sofas sat in the middle of it, surrounding a black glass coffee table. It seemed that the whole flat was decorated in black, white and silver. Well, at least whoever lived here had style. I wish I could say they knew how to tidy up though. Clothes and sheet music littered the floor, and a blanket lay across one of the sofas. It seemed whoever owned this place had slept on the sofa and given me their bed.