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Chapter 17: Full Throttle

Chapter 17: Full Throttle

I shift position as a pounding migraine stirs me awake. I grumble to myself and lazily move my head to the right, seeking comfort. My neck clicks. I wince, slowly opening my eyes to take in my surroundings. 

I feel disorientated, everything is spinning. 

I force myself to sit up, only to see Jay sleeping in a sitting position himself, his head resting against the headboard.

I cringe as some of the memories come back to me. I'm never drinking again.

I stretch out my arms, accidentally whacking Jay in the face in the process, and let out a much-needed yawn. It's enough to disturb him from his sleep. He groans in pain before his eyes flutter open. 

"What the hell?" he asks, bringing up his hand to touch his nose.

He has no right to complain. I barely touched him. He's the incarnation of pure evil who dropped me down a flight of stairs.

"You should be killed," I state, still half-asleep.

"And you should seek professional help," he states, moving his neck from side to side, clearly in pain from the odd position he fell asleep in. "You're high maintenance."

"I cost a little more, but damn, I'm worth it," I gloat in pride. "You, on the other hand..." I purposely pause, building up suspense, "not so much."

"Stop badgering me, Cruella," he narrows his eyes at me. "Because of you, I have a sore neck," he complains, pinning all the blame on me. "Don't you have some puppies to go and kill?"

"I fold." I sigh, still tired.

"And balance is restored," he smirks in satisfaction, crossing his arms behind his head as he gets comfy.

Winning is my thing.

"Balance of the underworld, maybe." I glower up at him, unimpressed.

"This back and forth is entertaining, Medusa, but I'm not really looking for friends," he adds, patting the top of my head thoughtfully, deliberately teasing me.

"Too bad, Chewbacca, we've been over this, you're getting one!" I chip in, annoyed. "And get your paws off of me!" I swat his hand away, irrational.

He chuckles. "Okay," he murmurs under his breath, amused, "so we're in that head space then."

I roll my eyes at him, my head throbbing. This isn't just from the hangover.

As if sensing my mood, he shuffles, sitting upright. "I should probably get you home."

"If you just bought me my own car, you wouldn't have to. It's getting kind of annoying sharing the whole time," I joke.

"Your audacity never seizes to astound me," he shakes his head. "I'm not some trust fund baby like Montry. I actually work for what I have. Now move, it's time to get you home."

I stubbornly stay put, refusing to cooperate with him.

Next thing I know, I am flying through the air before landing ungracefully on the floor beside his bed.

I have a thing for falling for him, apparently.

"Ouch!" I yelp, flinching in pain as I meet the ground.

My headache has just intensified.

"She's alive!" he grins connivingly, finding it comical.

I glare daggers at him when he packs out laughing, thinking it to be hilarious.