Her Last Wish

Her Last Wish - Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen
Sang
(Saturday)

The throbbing of my head can't be ignored anymore. Blinking my raw eyes open, I turn my head to the side, hoping that whoevers bed I'm in - because it isn't mine - has an alarm clock on a bedside table to tell me the time.

I'm in luck, so it seems.

I quietly groan when I read the red digits on the clock: six am. I do not want to be awake yet but my pounding headache won't let me sleep. Sighing, I remove the covers from my body and sit up, placing my bare feet on the plush, soft carpet.

I look down, taking in the cotton pyjama pants and large t-shirt, wondering how I managed to get changed last night. The last thing I remember is telling me to sleep and putting the seatbelt across my body.

Everything after that is blank. Though, I do hope that we made it to wherever I am with puking again.

I groan again, my muscles protesting as I stretch and push myself to standing. Looking around the room, I take in plain white walls and white cotton bed sheets. The room is so plain and cold...I hate it instantly.

It makes me wonder whose house I'm in. Obviously, I'm guessing that one, if not more, of the boys are close by but this room gives nothing away as to who's room this is. Nothing decorates the walls. The only furniture in here is the bed and two bedside tables and an alarm clock.

No lamps, no pictures even if it is only art, no TV or CD player. It's empty...and bare.

I turn towards the door slowly, my stomach twisting even with my slow movements. I'm unable to look at this room anymore and leaving is my only option. Exiting the room, I make my way down the lightly lit up hallway and down the stairs. My foggy mind does take note of all the decorating materials; tins of paint, folded sheets, paint brushes and rollers, but I don't give them a second thought as I take one step at a time down the stairs.

"Good morning." I startle at the voice, my hand reaching out to grab at the handrail. My heart pounds in my chest as I look to the bottom of the stairs where I find Owen Blackbourne holding a cup of steaming coffee dressed in a pair of casual dark blue jeans and a grey polo top. I blink at his feet, wondering if the Owen standing before me is a figment of my imagination.

He's wearing chucks. Dark grey chucks. But still chucks.

"Am I dreaming?" I wince at the sound of my own voice; croaky and dry.

"Why would you be dreaming, Sang?" I can hear a note of something in his smooth, deep voice. A note of amusement. It has me lifting my eyes from his feet, finally, and to his eyes. They sparkle.

"That's why," I tell him, making my way down the remaining steps. "You just called me 'Sang', and you're wearing jeans and chucks. Have you decided to pull that stick out of your ass?"

His lips lift, eyes crinkling slightly with the movement. The breath escapes my lungs in a quiet whoosh. "I see that sass of yours is back, Firecracker."

My heart flutters at the name. "It never left, Mr Blackbourne. I was just too intoxicated last night to use it." I pause, biting on my bottom lip. "Now, do you mind telling me exactly where I am?"

"Of course, but please allow me to get you some coffee first."

"Water will do just fine, thank you." I follow behind him as he leads the way to the kitchen. "And some paracetamol would be great too."