Bitter Heart √

Thirty One

Skylar's POV

I mean it, Sky.

I woke up with a start, and I could swear for a second I heard those strange words ringing faintly in my ears. Like someone was saying them. Except that there was no one here on my bed but me.

And then someone knocked on the bedroom door. Very loudly.

"Skylar, wake up!"

A small groan escaped my lips as I tried ignoring the bright sun which seemed to be plastered to my face. It took me a moment but I soon realised where it was coming from. The opened window.

My room. I was in my room and the window was open.

And then everything came crashing down on me.

"Geez." I groaned again, gripping my forehead. I couldn't even explain how bad my head ached at that moment. My throat had gone dry throughout the night and my brain felt like it might explode any second.

"Skylar." Another knock resounded and I'm sure it wasn't that loud, but to me, it felt like somebody was drilling holes into my skull.

"Who is it?" I snapped out loud.

The knocking stopped.

"Your mother, Skylar." Mom said. And she sounded pissed.

Oh shit.

"Fuc--I'll be out in a second!" I shouted and winced at my own loud voice. Hearing her footsteps retreat, I looked up at the wall clock. It was way before my classes even started. Normally, I didn't think I would ever wake up this early.

But I was awake now. Thanks to my mother. Who was here at the house now, for some reason.

Racking my head for clues, I tried coming up with an explanation as to why my head was being such a bitch right now. I remembered going to Alex's match. There had been Blake at some point.

Had Blake drugged me?

Chicken came out of nowhere and let out a loud meow, keeping her petty distance from me. I passed her a frown. That's when I remembered the real reason. I had gone off to that after-match party with Alex and had ended up getting drunk.

Oh Lord.

And my mom was home. If she found out I was drunk the whole night, I was so done.

So grounded. So dead.

I got up in a rush and quickly picked out some clothes before dashing in for a long, nice shower. I reeked of alcohol, yes, but Mom didn't have to know that. I'd dress up nice, play nice, be the nice daughter, and no one will know that I was out to some after-match douche party getting high off my ass last night.

Soon enough, fixing my bed a little (since I had the time), I exited my room with my tangled, brown hair down my shoulders and an extremely throbbing head.

"What," Mom spoke up the moment she saw me, "are you wearing?"

I looked down at my clothes and swished my dark orange skirt a little against my ankles. "You're making it sound like I'm wearing something highly immodest."