A Deadly Affair

Nine

Unsurprisingly, I wake up to a splitting headache; I regret all life choices made last night.

Groaning, I open my eyes slowly, finding that even with the blinds closed it's still too bright. I rub a hand over my eyes, as I sit up slowly and look around the room. There's three ibuprofen on the nightstand, with a glass of water and I knock them back quickly, before downing the water, the coolness soothing my dry throat. I look around, finding no sign of Ryan; he must have gone out- so much for talking this morning. Memories from the night before rush forward, and I hang my head in my hands. I was a total fool. I got drunk because I was sad that the first guy I thought I might have a connection with lied to me. He didn't even lie, he just didn't tell me yet. I'm such an idiot. It was one kiss, one amazing, spontaneous kiss and I thought we were going somewhere.

Sighing softly, I stand to my feet, grabbing my sweatshirt from the desk chair and throwing it on. The apartment is dark, and quiet as I walk out of the bedroom and head into mine to brush my teeth and put on my glasses; my vision is perfect, but my eye doctor prescribed a special type of glasses for my migraines. I have no idea if my eye glasses will help with a hangover but it's worth a try. Once I've put on my glasses and gotten the alcohol off my breath, I head into the kitchen to fix coffee. I halt when I find Ryan sitting at the counter, typing away on his laptop, and wearing glasses of his own. He wears glasses? And he looks amazing in them? I weigh the option of running back to bed, but his voice squashes any escape plans.

"Morning," He says, voice low. I look around to find the curtains drawn tightly, blocking out any and all light, which makes my chest warm at his thoughtfulness. This is why I liked being drunk; I could chalk my feelings up to being intoxicated, but now I'm fully sober with a god awful hangover. Pros and cons, I guess.

"Hi," I reply, walking tentatively into the kitchen. He pushes a mug toward me, before typing on his laptop again.

"Black coffee. It helps." He explains, not looking up from his laptop. "How are you feeling?"

I eye him for a moment before picking up the mug. "Fine."

"Fine?" He raises a brow, before looking at me. "I didn't know you wore glasses."

"Headaches, I get them a lot. My eyes-" I stop myself halfway, remembering my decision to stop giving him personal information. We're not close, we only live together, and not romantically.

"Your eyes?" He repeats, eyeing me curiously as he waits for me to continue. I take a swallow of the bitter coffee, hating the taste but hoping it'll help.

"You look nice In yours." I comment, before taking another large swallow. Our glasses are almost identical, big rimmed, simple black: but he looks incredible in his, while mine cause my eyes to shrink in size and makes people think I'm constantly glaring.

"So do you." He replies, and I pride myself that I keep my face blank. "I have horrible eyesight." He explains, before typing something else on his laptop. "Everyone in my family has bad eyesight."

I nod, it's something: but I've given him almost everything and he has a lot of catch up to play. I don't even know what family he's referring to. He mentioned a sister once, but not her name. He hasn't told me which set of grandparents is his favorite, if he likes or hates his Aunts and Uncles, if his Dad wears sweaters or is in a motorcycle gang. I know nothing except minuscule facts, things a complete stranger might know. I want to groan because I'm doing it again. My anger is not justified; it's my stupid forming feelings coming to the surface once again.

"Thanks for your help last night," I reply quietly, running my finger along the rim of the mug. "I shouldn't have drank so much."

"Everybody deserves to get drunk once in a while," He chuckles, and I finish the rest of my coffee. I need to go back to sleep: but I don't want to stay in the apartment right now with my traitorous feelings running wild. I wash out the mug, then dry it and put It back in the cabinet.