UNORTHODOX | KAI PARKER

XII .HEADQUARTERS.

Chapter 12

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The first thing I notice when I awaken from my sleep is the blaring sun beaming through the open curtains, illuminating my eyelids to an almost painful degree. The second thing I notice is the splitting fucking headache pounding against my skull. I let out a groan of annoyance, squeezing my eyes shut even harsher — which only results in a searing pain shooting behind my eyes — and rolling over to bury my face in the pillow. Avoiding the offensive sun.

The pillow is comforting, the cool material soothing the ache in my eyes. I've had worse. A lot fucking worse, so I can't help but be thankful that I went to sleep relatively sober.

The word sober circulates in my mind.

Was I sober? Would a sober person actively cuddle with a mass-murdering sociopath? Would a sober person tickle shapes into his arm while he speaks about his traumatic past? I shake the thoughts from my head. Okay, I definitely was still a little drunk.

The mention of the sociopath rips me from my thoughts, and I notice the lack of witch in bed next to me. That's when I notice the soft hum of the shower coming from the en-suite bathroom. I sit up, squinting my eyes at the bright light and rubbing a palm over the expanse of my temple. I sit and stare at the empty spot of the bed, still warm from the radiator that is Kai, as the memories of the previous night flood my mind. Encapsulating the entire workings of my brain.

As if on cue, the shower shuts off and the sound of the glass door sliding open and banging against the wall echoes through the bathroom and into the bedroom. My eyes snap to the door, and completely against my fucking will, a blush rises to my cheeks at the thought of the... well, objectively attractive man naked and wet behind the wood. Yep, okay. Definitely still a little drunk.

I can't help but wonder what everyone back at home would say if they knew about this blossoming... friendship? Mild platonic relationship? Weeks ago I never would have dared to think about being even civil with the sociopath, never mind having a potential friendship. But what do you call people like us? Who laugh in each other's company and have fun together and share dark secrets of our past.

They'd probably think I'm fucked up from my parent's death and previous relationship. Because of the blatant double standards they hold, which has been coming more and more apparent to me with every passing day I spend with him.

I stare into space as I wait for said sociopath to exit the bathroom, the growing need to pee causing my leg to bounce. Is there another bathroom? Of course? Am I going to get up and walk a further distance to use it? Fuck no.

The white wooden door swings open, revealing a naked, glistening chest accompanied by a towel wrapped around the waist and hair dripping into the wooden floorboards. And suddenly the... thoughts return. I shake my head.

I send him an open mouthed grin as a greeting, along with a small wave, noticing the lack of sharpie-dick on his forehead. My grin immediately falters as he doesn't even acknowledge me, making a beeline towards the bedroom door and out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him. I flinch at the loud sound the door makes when it hits the frame, my lips, which were ten second ago curved up into a smile, now curved down into a frown. He's most likely just grumpy due to being hungover. Obviously.

I ignore the unusual feeling in my chest as I bolt towards the bathroom, finally. I take note of the fresh, fluffy towel draped over the towel rack as I turn the shower on. I strip out of my remaining clothes as I wait for the shower water to heat up to the desired temperature. I run my hand under the pellets of water, coming to the conclusion that the heat is fine and clamber in. A sigh of gratification leaves my lips as the warm water cascades down my body, causing my tensed muscles to unwind and relax. God I love showers.