Must Date The Chef

|| 22.

I wake up with a thundering headache and no memory of how I got into my house or bed. Rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand, I try and fail to stifle a yawn which soon escapes me. The next few seconds has me snuggling under the duvet with no intention of leaving my comfort zone until the pounding resumes, forcing me to sit up. Another yawn threatens to escape, I stretch my limbs with my mouth wide open. 

Shifting to the edge of the bed, I palm my head to allow the wave of nausea pass and a tide of memories wash over me. I feel the same way I did the first time I got drunk at a birthday bash, maybe worse. Alcohol hasn't always been my strongest suit and I do my best to stay away from it to avoid stories that touch but last night was inevitable.

Still dressed in the black bandage gown I wore to the party-not-party, my eyes meet my reflection in the mirror and I scream in fake horror at the woman staring back at me. My fingers tentatively reach for my cheek to be sure the train wreck repeating every little gesture I make is me and I erupt into a fit of coughs. Is this how I looked going around, dancing with strangers? I groan, my eyes return to my twin image.

Her lips are stained red with a portion of the lipstick smeared around the corners of her mouth. She must have walked out the set of a goth movie because of her overly smoky eyes and smudged eyeliner which adds extra effect. Her hair, Lord have mercy. I forgot to put it in a bonnet before going to bed and now it looks like a nest.

Trying to straighten the hair only causes my head to pound even more, I rise to my feet slowly, reaching for my bedside drawer which I hope contains something for my headache. My fingers locate what I want and I heave a sigh of relief, taking the bottle of painkillers with me to the kitchen where I fetch a cup of water and pop two pills at once. I will have to make do with it for now.

By the time I reach my room, the headache has subsided and my head is clear enough for me to locate and put in place the shoes and keys I discarded in my daze last night. I spare myself another look in the mirror and cackle, I am a beautiful mess who needs sleep. My gown comes off first, I wipe my face clean of any trace of makeup, jumping into the bed in my half-naked state. This time, I make sure my hair is in a bonnet.

A phone's ringtone cuts through the air, the unmistakable voice of Jon Bellion singing a tune I am all too familiar with settles on me. I groan, my legs tangle in the sheets as I turn to retrieve the cursed device. The time displayed on my screen is all the motivation needed for the rest of the sleep to vanish.

9:40 am.

I blink. Once, twice as the day of the week written below the time comes into view and a groan escapes me. Today is Thursday, another workday. Great. We went to a fucking club on Wednesday. The reminder is enough to send my thoughts haywire, I scream into my pillow, forcing myself to leave the comforts of my beloved bed. Chi is so dead. Even more dead than she already is for leaving me all alone yesterday.

On cue, my phone rings again, speaking of the devil. I hit the answer button right as my phone goes off and my shoulders sag. I press two fingers to my temple and sigh. I am okay, I am the boss. I can handle this.

Making quick work of my bedsheet, I rush to the bathroom, calling on my former power to manifest so I can perform my fifteen minutes bathing and dressing up magic trick. I jump into the shower and yelp. The water is ice cold but the bath leaves me feeling more refreshed than the pills did and the headache almost returns when my eyes stray to the wall clock.

10:30 am. 

Who is moving the hands of the clock?

I might as well go makeup-free. My stomach growls, I let out a small scream as I stand in front of the wardrobe, hungry and angry without a clue on what to wear. I pick the first two outfits my hand comes in contact with, frowning as I hurriedly change into the black chiffon shirt and plain trouser.