Before You Go

chapter thirty

Eliza

I wake with a pounding headache and extremely sensitive eyes – the bright sunlight streaming through the open window makes them feel like they're being burned with a hot flame. The sunlight nearly blinds me as I roll over and find it within myself to sit up. A groan escapes my throat as the headache and body aches become more prominent. A wave of dizziness also engulfs me, making the room sway. I close my eyes and take several deep breaths, waiting until I'm sure that I'm not going to keel over before I open them again.

When I glance around the room, nothing seems out of the ordinary: the sun is streaming in and patterning the floor with light, the sheets are warm through my pyjamas, and the room smells like alpine air with a hint of my peach-scented shampoo. The only thing that's out of the ordinary is my hangover. I lean back against the fluffy pillows and breathe a sigh of regret. Why do I do this to myself? Every time I have a hangover, I promise myself that I'll never put my body through this ever again. And yet, I continue to do it.

Disgusted with myself, I tilt my head to the side and reach over to grab my phone. I'm not sure what time it is or how long I've slept in, but something tells me it's fairly late. However, before I can grab my phone, I see a tall glass of water and two pills right next to it. There's also a little blue sticky note attached to the side of the glass.

Frowning, I reach out and grab the note.

In case you need these when you wake up.

My breath catches in my throat – I'd recognize that writing anywhere. It's neat, but also a little slanted and smudged, something that could only happen to someone who is left-handed. I read the note several times before I neatly fold it up and slip it into the pocket of my jeans that I never changed out of.

Wait a minute.

I glance down at my jeans – I guess I'm not wearing pyjamas after all – as memories of last night rise to the surface. They're blurry; clouded by the taint of too much alcohol and not enough food, but I can vaguely remember Leon leading me up to the bedroom. Embarrassed, I drop my face into my hands and groan. It was nice of Leon to help me out during my rampant mouth and stumbling feet, but I can't remember exactly what I said to him. Oh, God. Why did I let him help me? What the hell did I say? I must have looked like an absolute fool.

"You're up."

I jump and jerk my head up in response. Instantly, I make eye contact with James's brown eyes. The bags under his eyes are a light shade of purple and are very heavy with sleep, prominent against his peachy complexion. I'm surprised to see him; he's dressed in nothing but his boxer shorts and a ripped grey t-shirt. His hair is a mess of tousled strands that stick up in every which direction. I don't recall him getting into bed with me last night, but even if he did at some point in the middle of the night, I doubt I would remember it. I can vaguely recall Leon sitting on the edge of the bed and waiting for me to fall asleep, but that's about it.