The Day Girls Started Chasing Me

Chapter 8

The light is blinding when I wake up that morning and the headache that pierces my skull is unbearable. I slowly rise from my flattened position on my bed, my fingertips pressed against my temples and my eyes closed. I hadn't realized I had so much to drink last night, as a matter of fact, I don't remember drinking anything. At first, the only thing I can focus on is the pain in my head, but suddenly, nausea takes over.

I run to the bathroom, my hand cupped against my mouth. I lift the toilet seat up and belt everything out, my back curving up to keep from choking on the vomit. I hate throwing up. It is a gross, and frankly, painful feeling. Pieces of acetic and old food bolt up my throat, scratching the surface and leaving my tongue with a nasty taste. The worse part is the smell. It made me want to puke even more.

I flush the toilet and grab some toilet paper to wipe the nastiness from my lips. With the excruciating taste of puke in my mouth, I make my way to the kitchen. Grabbing a cup from the pantry case above my head I fill it up with water before chugging it down as I gargle and shake my head in an attempt to clean my mouth.

"Hey, you got any hangover medicine?" a gruff voice asks from my side. The noise startles me, and as I whip my head to my left, the water in my mouth sprays all over their face. "Ew!" he squeals.

"Ezra! What the hell are you doing in my apartment?" His hair is pushed all over the place and water covers his face and bare chest. I notice that the only thing he has on is a pair of white briefers. And then I look at myself, and I realize that I'm only wearing my boxers. I never go to sleep in just my boxers. "Wait, did we . . . did you and I . . . ?" I trail off, unable to finish my sentence. The very thought sent shivers down my back.

"Did me and you have sex?" He asks while reaching for a napkin to wipe his face. "Don't fret, you're still a virgin."

I sigh in relief until I realize his backhanded comment. "How do you know I'm a virgin?"

"How many times must I have to tell you, you're an open book. There's nothing I don't know about you," he replies.

"You just met me, there's a lot of stuff you don't know about me," I remark.

"Okay, well, you're a nerd. That's pretty obvious. You probably grew up in the suburbs with your mom and dad and another sibling, I bet they're younger than you, female to be more specific. You've had one friend your entire life. You probably applied to an ivy league school or one of its prestigiousness, but seeing as to the fact that you go to Colorado State, you either couldn't afford it or got rejected. You're a virgin and you've probably never dated before, let alone kissed a girl. Your major is mostly in mathematics though your real dream is to join law enforcement, problem is that you're too chicken to do field work and not social enough to communicate with others."

I'm stumped. How is it possible for him to know all that about me? I've known him for two days and he talks as if though he's known me my entire life.

"Am I really that open?" I ask astonished.

"No, I read your diary. But I would have figured that all out eventually."

"My diary? Are you serious?" I'm not even sure how he found it. I kept that bad boy pretty hidden.

"Yeah, you let me and Cheryl read it, remember?"

"Cheryl?"

"Oh my gosh! Did your pants really fall down you after doing that play in elementary? That's so embarrassing!" This voice is higher in pitch and grows in volume until finally appearing behind Ezra. There Cheryl stands, dressed only in a large and oversized white shirt. She's holding my diary in her hands, her eyes heavily trained to the pages. I snatch it from her hands, quickly and swiftly hiding it behind my back.