Illegal My Ass

Chapter 31- 'Drake, did we make babies last night?'

A/N: Thank yoou to ImmaWriteOuttaHere for the awesome banner! its looks so tenchnoological i love it!

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Holy mother of crap, the pain.

I groan loudly as I roll over on the bed, clutching my head as my eyes begin to open awakening me from my slumber.

Slumber sounds like such a peaceful word considering I’ve woken up feeling rougher than Bobby Brown after a heavy night. My whole body was in pain. As I went to move, I felt a stinging pain on my lower back. Well, I say lower back, what I meant was the top of my ass.

My eyes slowly pry apart, my head pounding so much I genuinely hope I would just pass out again to avoid the pain. As the light flooded my vision, I realised I had no freaking clue where I was. I looked around the strange room, managing to process the fact I was in a motel room.

What a shit hole…

There were empty bottles and cans of beer everywhere, glasses scattered about everywhere, some half full, the majority empty. On the floor by the bed there was a deck of cards scattered about everywhere. I also managed to spot a traffic cone in the corner of the room along with a set of crutches.

Oh dear god, what the hell happened last night?!

I was still in my dress from the wedding, but I had no clue where my shoes were. I looked at the mirror by the wall and groaned again as I saw my reflection. I looked like a zombie. A well-dressed zombie with eye liner surrounding her eyes like Marylyn Manson. My hair was no longer the perfect beehive Lacey spent so long manufacturing, it was now hanging loose around my face, giving the ‘just got out of bed’ look a new definition.

I didn’t even bother getting the makeup off my face, and instead of trying to tame my hair I just ran a hand through it and got it out of my face.

I suddenly realised I had to find out where the hell we were and what the hell happened last night.

Oh, and I had to figure out where the hell Drake was.

The motel room was basic; it was a bed in the middle, which made me shiver as I thought about this show I once watched where they scan one of those CSI things that shows bodily fluids in public grotty motel rooms just like this one. That bed probably had so much semen in it I'm surprised if I’m not pregnant.

There was a dresser on one side of the room, currently covered in empty cups. As I walked closer towards it I furrowed my brows as I spotted the amount of tissue that was on the dresser. As I picked a bit of the tissue up, my eyes widened as I saw there was blood on it.

I suddenly began to panic as I saw the blood, needing to find Drake now more than ever. The images of him getting stabbed while wearing that stupid sombrero flashed my head, or maybe him falling off a truck and landing on a pile of knives. The panic inside of me right now was not causing me to think rationally I can tell you that.

After we both popped those freaking Mexican death pills, the night becomes fuzzy. I remember the majority of it before that. The whole Magic Mike re-enactment was clear in my head, the making out in front of about 100 cheering women was also clear. It was the events that took place after that that were a little hazy.

I stared at the tissue a little harder, noticing blood was not the only thing on it. I scrunched my face in confusion as I studied the black marks on it too. Was that…ink?

What the hell did he do, get stabbed with a fountain pen?

I threw the tissue down on the dresser and turned to make my way into the bathroom. As I flung open the door, I didn’t even need to switch on the light to see the lifeless figure sprawled out on the floor, his head lying right by the toilet. He was in his clothes from the night before too, his suit trousers half undone revealing his boxers from where he clearly went to the toilet and buttoning them back up was too much of a challenge. His shirt was undone, revealing his oh so hot body. Even with that little bit of drool by the corner of his mouth, the boy was still do able.