And That's How It Happened

Chapter 12 | Day 13 | Is That Anyway To Treat The Wall?

Song of the Chapter: Today Was a Fairytale by Taylor Swift

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When I wake up at seven thirty, slightly later than normal, my head is pounding. Again. Maybe it's a sign. Having too much fun gives me migraines. I fumble through my bathroom cabinet and pull out an aspirin bottle. Shuffling to the kitchen, I fill a glass with water and sit at the couch. Maybe this could be a routine. Wake up with a pounding headache and sit on the couch and watch the sun rise. Because I wake up a little later, though, I miss the sunrise. Tossing back the pills, I chug the water and lay down on the couch, trying to close my eyes and block out the pain.

"Oof!" A voice exclaims.

Startled, I fall off the couch, rolling on the carpet. Glancing up, I see Hotshot sitting up, clutching his stomach.

"Geez, woman, how much do you weigh?" He exclaims.

"Hey! I didn't know you were there! Did I hurt you?" I ask, rising into my knees and moving over to him.

He smirks at me and I realize he was just joking.

"You just caught me by surprise. You barely hurt me."

I glare at him and ask, "What are you even doing here, anyways?"

"My manager's still hogging my place. Stupid girlfriend cheated on him and took the apartment," he scowls.

Despite the fact that he's been temporarily displaced, I can tell he's scowling because he genuinely cares about his manager and is angry that he got hurt. I smile sympathetically and pat his head.

"Poor you," I say sarcastically. "You have to give to someone who's job is to help you. Why is life so hard?"

"I know! I need a break," he says, playing along.

He lays back down, then rolls onto his side, propping up his head with his arm bent at the elbow. I sit cross legged to get more comfortable and we talk about useless stuff until my stomach growls. Which doesn't take long. He smirks at me as I get up and go to the kitchen.

"What're you making?" He asks, leaning against the doorjamb.

"Crepes."

"Yum. I want five."

Rolling my eyes, I continue searching for ingredients. I can feel his eyes on me as I move through the kitchen.

"What?" I snap, cracking under his stare.

"Am I making you uncomfortable? Are you too intimidated by my hotness?" He smirks.

Letting out a low growl, I feel my grip on the whisk tighten. He's so annoying! Without me saying anything, he walks to the dining room and starts setting the table for the two of us. I catch myself smiling slightly. It's so weird. He makes me feel one way and does a complete one-eighty and makes me feel the complete opposite. Maybe it's him. Yeah. He's the weird one. Deciding to ignore it, I continue mixing the batter.

And that's how I spend my morning.

...

When we finish breakfast, Hotshot leaves to catch up with other friends, with a good-bye statement of 'Don't cry over the lack of my presence. I know you're strong and you'll make it.' The he had the audacity to kiss my forehead! To 'Help me get through the day.'