When We Met

Thirteen

|Donovan|

A million or so tap dancers are stomping their feet on my head, making my nerves pulse in pain.

I groan and try to move, but end up initiating another jolt of head march. Did I drink last night? Oops. Wrong question.

How much did I drink last night?!

I slowly open my eyes and immediately squint them shut. Who the fuck decided to sway aside the curtains right in the morning?!

Another groan escapes from my lips and I finally force my eyes to stick open.

The room highly smells of alcohol, sweat and vomit. I scrunch my nose up in disgust and look around, managing to not give myself a terrible migraine.

As I do so, my gaze lands on a figure slumped over my couch.

What?

I sit up straight and look for a bottle of water on my bedside table, still scrutinizing the Sleeping Beauty.

Uh oh.

If I'm not wrong, Dylan Martin has the same brown hair and I can recognize his leather jacket as well.

But the real question is: what the heck is Dylan Martin doing on my couch?!

Hold on.

Why is he in my bedroom?!

My eyes pop out of their sockets. I can't remember anything from last night. Not even a faded memory.  It's like a blur, everything whooshing by in a haste.

I start panicking and coil my fingers around my hair, pulling them strongly.

Dylan Martin is asleep on my couch and I can't remember why.

I know I'm over reacting. Had he been sleeping beside me on the same bed as me, it would have been a really bad sign.

But, he's not.

He's about seven feet away from me, snoring rhythmically and fully clothed (jacket included). I really don't think anything happened between the two of us.

I start breathing normally. It's all cool. Maybe we were hanging out together last night and ended up at my place for some reason.

What reason?

Um, I don't know.

Why would two single individuals end up at a house in the middle of the night?

Um.

I try to stand up and regret eventually. The roof seems to be doing some kind of a bull dance over my head.

My toe trips over something and I collapse on the floor with a thud so fierce, it wakes Dylan up.

His body jerks up and he looks around. It takes him ten seconds to find his damsel in distress sprawled all over the floor.

Well, you would expect a respectable act from a gentleman like him, wouldn't you? At least I did. I thought he'd crouch down next to me and help me up. Or have the courtesy to ask if I'm okay.

But instead, he bursts out laughing.

Surprised? Yeah, me too. And the way he laughs makes me look like some kind of a comedian running a fucking circus for him.

I frown at him and make a really pathetic scowling face. This makes him laugh even harder.

I huff. That's it, matie.

Maybe it's my sick face that sobers him up a little. Or maybe the flustered anger.

"I'm sorry." He says and kneels down beside me. "What are you doing anyway?"