Six years ago, Rey Adams thought she had finally life figured out. Having broken away from her past, her life is irrevocably altered when she meets, a man who is the first person to treat her with kindness and respect. Six years later they're engage...
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Having a hangover from Hell couldn't begin to describe the throbbing in Rey's head. It was more along the lines of residing in purgatory in which she merely existed somewhere between the afterlife, and walking amongst the living on Earth.
After being numb from the pain the evening before there were only a few words that could properly describe the sensation of what one too many Long Islands were capable of accomplishing: they made you feel like shit!
Although, feeling like death warmed up and served on a silver platter for a party of one was also approaching closely in comparison. However, with the hurt all being the same she could have also been struck upside the head with a wooden baseball bat wrapped in barbed-wiring.
Scowling, Rey reproached the thought that she really needed to stop watching The Walking Dead with Finn and Hux. Comparing herself to the show's characters at the moment, specifically those with rotten flesh, only managed to stroke her gag reflexes at the worst of times.
When Rey opened her eyes, everything was a blurry orb of light. Straining to see through her narrowed eyelids she managed to dim the brightness. No thanks to the unpainted white walls, the rays from the eastern sun glared with a vibrant ferocity through her bedroom window.
Grimacing at the sensitivity, Rey turned from her side onto her stomach, burying her face into the cushiness of her pillow whilst pulling the quilt up and over her shoulders. She regarded the faint, proverbial fragrance of coconut from her shampoo that was lingering on her pillowcase with a soft inhale.
She was in her bed, in her bedroom.
Wait a fucking minute...
How in the hell did she get home from the bar? Did she attempt driving home, heavily under the influence? Or had she managed to withhold a reasonable amount of sensibility to find a designated driver?
Her mind was nothing but fuzzy on the details. The possibility of any truth lying behind her risking the attempt of driving herself home hadn't been entirely ruled out at this point; although, the thought of having to ponder such questions was too much of a task at the moment. Alas, Rey settled with the better thought of having drunk-dialed Finn or Hux.
Chalking off the fact that she had been able to take in the surroundings of her room, Rey concluded it to be her greatest accomplishment for the day after allowing her eyes to become accustomed to the brightness in the room. The daunting task of walking was surely about to become the new add-on bonus.
Rey slowly rose onto her hip, keeping a hand firmly planted into the mattress, she felt the hangover's remnants consume her like that she'd participated in a head-on collision course of sorts.
Her head was stuck in a slow spiraling motion, enhancing the aspects of her vertigo. The queasiness in the pit of her abdomen made Rey chide herself for deeming it wise to forego eating, and chose to consume an excessive amount of liquor on an empty stomach instead. The taste of stale alcohol lingering on her breath certainly wasn't helping the overall matter of her situation.
Clearly, drinking alone when miserable had not been the brightest of her bright ideas, regarding that she had been so determined in finding a way to numb any, and all emotions she never considered the corresponding consequences.
Moral of the story, Adams: never drink Long Islands alone – ever! Actually, just don't drink alone period.
Sighing heavily, Rey moved to an upright seated position with her legs crossed; resting her elbows on her knees she dug her palms into her eyelids. She welcomed the pressure as being a short relief from the dull pain behind her temples. If there was the slightest chance that her eyeballs would pop out of their sockets from the amount of pressure being applied to them, Rey wouldn't have been surprised.
She switched focus to her temples, massaging them in a circular motion with her fingertips whilst staring at an unspecified spot on the blank wall across from her. Rey cocked her head slightly with an anomalous look, perceiving the whitish partition as a blank canvas: a clean slate that was pleading to be colored with something new – something fresh.
A revitalized yearning to paint became the only thought that sparked the ashes of her desolation. The fresh ideas swarming in her thoughts only initiated her excitement to bring them to life on a real canvas. For so long she depicted the art to be an unwarranted reminder of what she had run from, and that her love for it had died along with the life of her fiancé among the other excuses that were rendered moot.
Today, that grim outlook over it was about to change.
Apparently hitting rock bottom had been what she needed to rearrange her life, and to obtain a clearer image of what she wanted to do next in this newfound journey. Considering Rey felt as if she'd figuratively hurled herself over the edge of a cliff and landed amongst a pile of boulders at some point in the night the metaphor was certainly fitting.
She made it a point to recover her paints and supplies from storage that day. Even if it meant taking her all afternoon to rummage through every single box labeled as JUNK to find what she needed: because she was a genius that found it easier at the time to label every geometric-shaped piece of cardboard as such.
That was also after the fact of crossing over the real hurdle for the day: peeling her hung over ass out of bed. Having a crane to assist herself with the task of swinging her legs over the bed's edge appeared to be an easier solution than having to count to ten before pushing herself away from the mattress, but Rey endured the struggle like a ninja – just less graceful.
A congratulatory pat on the back was more than needed after changing from the dark denim skinny jeans and her favorite t-shirt (featuring The Beatles) into more comfortable attire of pajama shorts that were navy blue with large, pink hydrangea blossoms, and a matching shade of pink on the waistband and around the trim hugging her thighs. She topped off the bum attire with her favorite Under Armor hoodie that was heather grey with pink lettering. All of which she had been able to do without falling on her face.
Focusing on walking with one bare foot in front of the other, Rey emerged from the confinement of her bedroom to the dwelling's main sitting area. Thinking that she had been the only one in the house, she was surprised to see Finn in the kitchen. And, judging by the sweet smell of cookie batter that blended in with the bitter aroma of coffee, he was clearly in a mood that called for a baking spree. She could already see a few batches of plain sugar cookies amongst the chocolate chip ones on the opposite counter from the sink.
Transferring the last fully-baked chocolate chip cookie from the baking sheet to a piece of parchment on the island countertop, Finn looked up at the sound of stool feet dragging with friction against the hardwood flooring.
"Good morning there, lush." Finn greeted in that of a facetious jab. "I'm surprised to see you mobile already, after the state that you were in last night."
Resting her elbows on the window's countertop and cradling her cheeks between her fists, Rey narrowed her eyes towards the tiny digital numbers on the stove that read 11:17. Acknowledging the hour with a groan, Rey folded her arms purposely on the counter top to rest her head upon them. "Thanks," she grumbled.
"Coffee's made if you want some. No offense, but you look like you need it."
"Since when do we own a coffee maker?" Rey asked, quirking a brow.
"Since I took it upon myself to go through the last number of gifts that you didn't want," Finn concurred with a toothy grin. He took her exaggerated eye roll as his queue to pour Rey a mug of hot caffeine from their newly acquired Keurig with a few drops of creamer, along with supplying a couple tablets of Aspirin.
Rey gave him weary appreciative smile, popping the more than needed hangover remedies into her mouth. She welcomed the heat of the brown liquid to wash them down with an internal satisfied sigh. Her hands remained clasped around the mug, savoring the heat that its content was exerting.
"Thanks for helping my sorry ass last night," Rey uttered softly.
Finn remained standing in front of her, leaning on his forearms with a look that she took as him wanting her to acknowledge something from the night before. Oblivious to what he was imploring, she brought the rim of her mug to her lips for another sip of its liquid content.
Finn chuckled. "Actually, that's the hilarious part: Solo brought you home."
Rey nearly spit the drink back into the mug at his words. Her muscles went stiff whilst staring back at Finn with pupils blown wide. "What?"
Finn nodded with a smirk. "Yep, he carried your drunk-ass in shortly after ten o'clock last night."
Rey scoffed as panic crawled into her chest. Her eyes flickered amongst the tiny grains of wood on the countertop, desperately picking through any competent sector of her brain as to why she was with Ben the night before. Unfortunately, she couldn't come up with a single memory other than she knew for a fact that Ben hadn't been with her at the time she ordered another Long Island – whenever that was.
Questions sparked their way throughout the nerve endings of her brain, but only proved to be fruitless to ponder: every query led directly to a dead-end answer. Her brain was hurting now more than ever.
Rey heaved a frustrated sigh. Closing her eyes, she hoped that she hadn't said (or done) anything that would've made her look like a major jackass in Ben's eyes. Not that she cared though, right? But the more she tried to make herself believe it the more her anxiety escalated. She made it a crucial priority to ask Ben about it later.
"What was up with that, anyways?" Finn remarked, breaking Rey from the quarrel in her thoughts as he made his way back to the large bowl on the counter by the stove that contained the remaining batch of cookie batter. "I don't think I've ever seen you get that drunk since I've known you."
Because my fiancé is a mendacious twat and made me do it, Rey wanted to say. Deciding to surpass the uncouth remark, she chewed her bottom lip to make up a more reasonable excuse rather than choosing to smear more mud over his late friend's image.
Rey considered the fact that Finn never went on excessive baking sprees unless something was troubling him. She couldn't bear the thought of burdening him with more poignant details of her estranged love life with his deceased childhood best friend.
"I just – it's been a chaotic couple of weeks, Finn. I needed a night to clear my head. But I'm better now." Rey assured with a (hopeful) convincing enough smile. "I promise. And, actually, I decided that I want to start painting again."
"For real?" Finn inquired with surprise, plopping a rounded form of cookie dough on the cooking sheet with the spoon in hand. "That's great!"
