Cherry (REWRITE IN PROGRESS)

Chapter 4

Jiro

I groan distastefully as I wake up to a throbbing pain in the side of my head. I throw the pink sheets off of me and...

Wait.

I don't have pink sheets.

I turn my head towards the shifting figure beside me, snoring softly. She's stark naked, just like me.

Ah.

The images of last night flash through my mind. Yesterday I left Conner and went to the nearest bar that I could find. I stayed there for what felt like hours, taking shot after shot of whatever strong liquor they had. I don't even like to drink like this, now that I mention it. But I did it and realized that those painfully stunning blue eyes and the woman that they belong wouldn't leave my thoughts. So I took more shots.

Then I remember being approached by this blonde (aka sleeping broad with pink sheets) who could actually make the color pink look good on someone, but had me choking from her thick coating of whatever the fuck perfume she dumped on herself. I bought her some drinks and as I could sense myself slipping, I could feel her hands over me.

The rest of the night was sweat, moans, groans, and skin clapping against each other so violently. I went at it with reckless abandon, but I was so lost in my own mind that I didn't notice her clenching up on me. I just kept going till I passed out.

Looking at her now, I still find it difficult to remember her name. Sabrina, Sally, Susan, Sexy...oh well. I didn't care. It wasn't even her face I was seeing the whole time. Wasn't that appealing anyway.

I get up and pull my jeans and shirt on, then slip my boots on effortlessly. I check my wallet in case the blonde decided to steal any of my money. I do remember her being rather insistent on me constantly buying her drinks.

When everything seems to be in its place, I walk out before she even has the chance to wake up. Another short novel read and burned up, never to be looked at again.

As I roam the street, I see the sun just now starting to rise. I glance down at my phone to see that it's dead, so I look at my watch and realize that it's 7:10 in the morning. That, and I desperately need a shower.

I still don't want to go back to the apartment yet.

As I'm mentally debating between whether to go back to the apartment or continue roaming the streets, my feet instinctively take me to Pot&Belly diner, which just so happens to be open right about now.

Y'vonnë

I retreat the paintbrush from the canvas and look on with intensity. I tilt my head to one side, then the other. I don't say a word at all, as my lips are pursed together.

All of a sudden I feel as if I've found myself again...like gaining control of my body.  I blink a couple of times, and my lips part slightly as I realize the aftermath of my autopilot state.

I've just painted the same pair of light brown eyes for the fifth time.

This is what I woke up three hours before my alarm for...

Vonni...you are stupid indeed.

It's not unusual for me to wake up at ungodly hours just to paint, but for the first time, I feel so bad about it.

Thank the gods Lucille decided to go home earlier that evening. We spent some time talking, watching a series of James Bond movies and stuffing ourselves with lasagna, which she just so happened to make before leaving.

However, she kept nagging me about the "mystery guy" that I'm apparently thinking about. I'm surprised that she didn't see the guy who was near me yesterday...and the way he was whispering into my ear.