Reckless Serenade

four | quinn

iv. in which quinn stevens faces the consequences of her actions

• • •

"QUINN, WAKE THE fuck up already." An irritated voice streamed through my consciousness, tugging myself out of my nonsensical dreams and into harsh reality. I was vaguely aware that a set of hands had me by the shoulders, gripping tight and shaking roughly. I couldn't find it in me to reply though, still stuck between the drifting stage of awakening and unconsciousness. "Oh, Jesus. Evan, hand me the bucket."

All of sudden, I was wide awake, my eyes being forced open as a frigid coldness stung my body from the waist up. My clothes, rumpled and wrinkled, clung securely to the curves along my body as the ice water drenched me and had me sputtering in shock. Bolting upright in the spot, my arms snaked around my body, hugging myself tightly as my teeth chattered involuntarily.

"What the fuck was that for?" I hissed out through gritted teeth, shivering from the breeze emanating from the air conditioning while blowing a clump of hair angrily away from my face.

"You wouldn't wake up." Joel replied with an innocent smile, cocking his head to one side, and attempted to hide the metallic gleam of the evidence behind his muscular back. The bucket's rims were still noticeable and I fixed my glare on it before switching perspectives back to the drummer. Standing meekly behind his brother was Evan, who merely glanced out the window opposite where he stood, unable to meet my death stare. A small smile flitted across his lips and I knew he wasn't as innocent in the scheme as he made out to be.

Before I could yell out an assortment of colorful language towards the brothers' directions, a pang of nausea overrode the irritation and I found myself gesturing wildly to Joel's arms.

"The bucket?" He raised an eyebrow, to which I paused in my frenzied movements to deadpan a reply, "No, you dumbness. The thong currently sticking out of your back pocket - yes, the bucket."

Wrinkling his nose at the blatant sarcasm, he extended his hands to give me the pail, but it was too late. I felt the bile from the alcohol rise up in my esophagus and soon vomit was splattered clear over the bed sheets, tarnishing its bright white hue with a sickening green color.

"Oh, gross." The three of us groaned at the same time. Now feeling utterly revolting, I tossed the empty bucket at Joel's head - which he ducked before it could make impact - before shooing them both out of the room.

"Go get a maid or something to clean this up." I demanded, tasting the remnants of puke in my mouth. "I'm going to disinfect my face." The two gave me a wary look before heading out the door and into the hallways, the door shutting firmly behind them with a click.

Once they were gone, I finally took the time to gaze at my surroundings, filled with curiosity and confusion. I was spread over a queen sized mattress, still dressed in the previous night's attire. My dress was wrinkled and torn at the hem, bunched up around my waist from the fitful sleep, and I cursed. That was my favorite dress.

Eyes scanning the room, it wasn't familiar in any way, shape, or form. The windows were placed to the right of the bed, shades drawn to a tight close as sunlight streamed haphazardly through the small cracks. It wasn't soundproof though, as the honks and shrieks of the busy Los Angeles streets filtered through the thin, beige walls. A small table sat in front of the television, stacked with complimentary magazines and the remote, scattered as my heels sat precariously atop the mess. Complete with a small bathroom off towards the left, I concluded that I was in a hotel room: a mere four star one by the looks of it.

With a grimace, I threw the vomit-stained, wet blanket off to the side and hopped down, bunching it up in a pile by the bedside table. I made my way into the bathroom, hands groping the wall for the light switch, finally finding it and flickering it on.