Not Interested ||H.S

Chap. 21

Chapter Twenty-One
May Scott

This is it.

This is the day I'm going to die.

My head is pounding. It's pounding so much as if someone was taking a heavy brick and banging it against my head.

Why in the hell did I drink last night?

I slowly open my tired eyes, finding myself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. I'm so messed up that I don't even care where I'm at, at the moment. All that matters right now is that my freaking head is killing me.

Stretching my hands up to rub my throbbing head, I let out a very painful groan.

That was until I accidentally hit someone with my elbow. I quickly turned my head to the side. A guy's back was turned to me. He didn't have a shirt on, so his toned, tan back was on display and his chestnut hair was in a loose man bun.

In instant, I knew it was Harry. Harry's the only white guy I know with long hair that wears man buns. He's the only guy I know with long hair.

Without a care in the world, I somewhat gently hit him in the back of his head.

Harry groans and turns his body around fully facing me. "What the hell!?" It's obvious I pissed him off by waking him up from his slumber. But I don't give a rat's ass. "What you hit me for?"

"You got me drunk last night," I say so calmly. Which is a hundred percent true. I wouldn't have been in pain right now if it wasn't for Harry. It was his idea to pop open a bottle.

He stared at me with sleepy eyes for a good moment, probably thinking of what to say, before positioning himself down on his back.

"Instead of hitting me in the back of the head, you should be thanking me for stopping you after your fourth or fifth glass." He puts his hands behind his head and closes his eyes.

Sounds about right. Once I get ahold of alcohol, I don't know how to control myself. I need someone to babysit me while I'm drinking. It's always been like that ever since high school.

Although Harry might be right, I still want to blame him for my headache because it is so much easier to blame him instead of blaming myself.

"It's still your fault." I shrugged as I shift around on my side of the bed. As I was shifting, I reached underneath the blankets just to see if I'm naked or not. Though I'm pretty sure Harry would never try anything stupid on me. But it's for precaution.

Just as I expected. I'm not naked. But I'm not wearing any of my clothes. I think I'm wearing one of Harry's t-shirts. It's a good and bad thing. Good because we didn't do anything. Bad because he probably saw me naked or not. Harry's not an idiotic asshole though, I'm sure.

I look over at the floor and saw my clothes laying around. What the hell went down last night? We couldn't have done it. I'm sure we didn't.

I realized Harry decided not to reply to me. Or perhaps he just fell right back to sleep. Either way, it's getting under my skin because now I want to bother him for a reason I don't know why.

I turned on my side and purposely pulled the heavy, black blanket off of him and onto my side of the bed. A deep groan comes from his lips. Without him saying anything, he pulls the blanket completely off of my small body compared to his.