Shining Distraction [slow updates]

.NINE.

"Body language is something that you feel, it's just too real to be concealed. Body language is something that you learn and you just can't get taught.." --Cute Is What We Aim For, Finger Twist & Split

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Death warmed over; that's how I feel at 7:09 on this particular Saturday morning.

After last night, there are two things I'm absolutely certain of. The first? I am never drinking tequila with Niall Horan ever again. The current pounding in my head should be enough to promise that but it's not so simple. This complicated fact leads me to my second realization. Even though I have a boyfriend (whom I've convinced myself I am very-much in love with), I came extremely close to kissing Harry Styles twelve hours ago. Too close.

Fuck.

What's even worse is that I don't remember much after that. What if I actually did kiss Harry? Or, oh no... brought him home? As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I become excruciatingly aware of the body next to me in my bed and a mess of confusion and wonder and, admittedly, guilt start to meld together in a potent mixture of knots deep within my stomach, my subconscious whispering to me that it could very well be the curly-haired man I had tried so damn hard to resist.

The effort it takes to roll myself over to face the other person in this bed is enough to make the room spin, causing my head to pound even harder and my stomach to twist in on itself, the need to vomit hitting me fast and with such a force that I don't even get the chance to glance at whoever is next to me before I bolt out of bed and sprint toward the bathroom.

I've hardly had the chance to get through the door or flip the light switch before I fall to the floor, yanking the toilet seat up and shoving my head into the bowl, the acidic liquid burning my throat as it leaves my body and splashes into the water below my face. As an after thought, I use one hand to grab my hair to keep it from falling into the mess, using my other hand to prop myself up as by body heaves violently to expel the last of the bile in my gut.

When I'm sure it's safe, I push the lever down to flush away the mess I've made, releasing my tangle of hair to fall around my shoulders before lying down, the tiles of the floor feeling cool and refreshing against my clammy, damp skin. I remain here for what feels like hours trying to catch my breath, hoping to feel some semblance of normal before I make the trip back to bed. Only when I hear a familiar chuckle from the doorway do I make any sort of movement, straining to get a good look at Kate, who is getting too much enjoyment out of  my current physical state.

"Rough morning, sunshine," she inquires and my response to her is nothing more than a noise I've never heard before, fitting somewhere between a growl and a yelp, surprising even myself and evoking another burst of laughter from Kate.

"How are you so... fucking chipper this morning?" When I finally find the strength to form the words, it's as if I've just run a marathon and all of the energy has been sucked out of me, my head falling back onto the floor and my eyes screwing shut, a whiny voice somewhere in the depths of my mind begging for a nap. Or at least a giant glass of water.

"Because I know how to say no when a crazy blonde Irishman offers up endless tequila shots." She cackles maniacally when I stick my tongue out at her and I wince, the noise feeling like a direct poke at my already-sensitive head. My reaction, however, does nothing to suppress her giggles and I can't help but smirk at her in return.

"Seriously, though, what the hell happened last night?" I take the chance to push myself up from the floor, slowly moving to sit upright, leaning back against the bathroom wall, my head tipping back as my eyes fall closed, mind racing a mile a minute, trying to present me with any inkling of what lead to this morning, realizing I still had no idea who it was sleeping soundly in my bed.