One Word | H.S.

Chapter One

Confusion.

~

The exact feeling of confusion is what I felt when I awoke in the stranger's bed.

I am not one who is against the occasional one night stand or the drunken mistakes that happen around 2 am; but I am the one who hates staying the night.

It is the same thing every time.

Your eyes flutter open as your hungover body screams in pain, aching for a single drop of water to cure the dehydration that is ruling your body. The disgusting feeling of regret swims through your veins as you recognize that not even a shower with holy water will cleanse you from your sins.

You turn to the right and see that not only are you waking up in hell but you are waking up with a stranger that may or may not have impregnated you the night prior.

Condoms are like prayer. They sometimes work.

The cold sweat covers your skin like icing on a cake and would be visible to a person miles away as you wonder how you could possibly escape this situation.

Maybe, I can jump from the window. 50/50 chance I survive but another 50/50 chance I live, and to be quite frank, I am okay with either of the outcomes.

Your eyes scan the perimeters as you search for your clothes, coming to the conclusion that you should have gone for the t-shirt and joggers look opposed to the skinny, ripped jeans and leather jacket look.

As the stranger wakes, the pit in your stomach only appears to grow in size, causing the remnants of alcohol and the bottomless pit of worry to form the nasty nausea that will only be cured once you grip the porcelain bowl in the bathroom.

Rollercoasters have nothing on this God-forsaken feeling.

And every single time, you leave wondering why you made the mistake, yet again.

~

"Good morning" the stranger, whose name is nothing but blur, speaks.

I don't even know what he looks like. I keep squinting my eyes, trying to wake up from this nightmare. Hell, rather. I've entered hell and for once, I'm upset about such.

I know I am being dramatic but this occurs way too much and I am so tired of pregnancy scares.

The stranger begins to stir more, the dipping of the bed sending me into a whirlwind of worry.

No. Sit back down, you are asleep. This is a dream. I am not here. Well, I wish I wasn't here. I am nothing but a figment of your imagination.

I begin to think how this might come off a little strange. It is clear I have woken up given I jolted up as fast as Usain Bolt, but I stay silent. I am not a shy person but I certainly am awkward. I tend to make comments that people narrow their eyes to. I, however, think they are quite funny.

My humor is dark but so is my spirit so it all sort of makes sense I suppose.

Fuck's sake, speak Presley. Say words. You clearly are good at using your mouth for other things so I am sure you can form a few coherent sentences.

"Sup."

Nevermind.

I silently assault my brain with a baseball bat as the words leave my mouth. Sup? I am 24 years old and I am speaking like my middle school boyfriend who ended our relationship for a girl named Lucy.

Granted, Lucy was pretty. She had a nice bike and long chestnut locks as I had a razor scooter with one wheel and short blonde/brown hair that had an underlying health issue: frizz. I, however, grew into it.