New school, new start, but that doesn't mean old habits fade. And one of those bad habits may or may not be stalking. This odd knack however quickly leads into some unwanted consequences when a rather strange individual shows up to class the first d...
(This chapter is longer than usual, like, over 40 pages in type 12 typing; so don't purge me for being inconsistent as all hell. Yes, I have no hobbies, thanks for asking.)
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When you wake up the next day it was only due to the pulsating pain in your skull, the sun was already far beyond noon when you jerk up in your current position to assess where you were. Wide eyed and your head still spinning you hastily look around, how had you gotten into Jamies room again? No, better question, what the hell happened yesterday?
You attempt to recall last night's events, but can't piece anything together, not even images or simple occurrences, it was all just...Gone. So you were left curled up on the couch, a smarting on your throat, guts and head as you desperately made an effort to at least get some idea of why you felt so miserable.
The last event you can trace back to in your mind was that dark haired man at the bar that had given you a drink and had talked to you for a while, and then; there merely was a abrupt loss of consciousness. It really began to freak you out that you couldn't remember a thing, but at least you were alive and in a place you presumed to be safe. And it wasn't all gloom, at least you knew you had found Jamie and brought him home, or he had found you, one of both; whatever works.
Come to think of that Aussie pest, where was that brat? You carefully rise to your shaky legs, finding the nausea in your stomach near unbearable, it felt like a hangover but the symptoms ramp up to a all time high. And especially the parched ache in your throat was peculiar to you.
It's only now that you notice the slightly grimy hoodie you were wearing, confused and a little concerned to find it was in fact the only thing you were wearing over your bare torso. Where did your shirt and bra go? Weird, you think to yourself, pulling the warm fabric tighter around yourself in order to take a deep breath of that lovely scent adhering to it, it was just too satisfying to inhale his lovely fragrance, a scent you came to adore.
And as your hands slide into the wide side pockets, you suddenly notice a fleetly scribbled note stuffed into one the compartments. Great, another one of those, you think to yourself sarcastically as you proceed to decipher the chaotic handwriting.
"Good morning dollface, you probably feel like shit and are wondering what happened yesterday. To put it short, you got yourself roofied, but don't worry; besides that nothing happened to you, the effects should wear of sooner or later. The only thing that broke was your shirt and brassiere, better not question why, you might not like the answer. Anyway, you can thank me later for saving your sweet ass by the way. P.S Thanks for being so considerate to bringing the crack back to me, I'll put it to good use. Love, Rat~"
That fucking jerk! You think to yourself, instantly crumpling the paper in your hands bitterly, before stumbling over to your backpack that was carelessly cast aside in a corner. And as you swiftly rummage through your papers, you quickly find he had actually taken small bag with containing the methamphetamine crystals that you had hidden between the sheets. At least he was opportunistic enough to look through your belongings, cunning bastard.
