Healing Melody (Very Slow Updates)

6. She Stans

A/N:
The photo above shows Gloria's amber eyes which vary under different lighting (like every eye color does) but it's mostly orangey gold! And her eyes are a little more upturned and set wider apart because of her Asian genes.

All in all, she's unique! Hehe!

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The first thing I register is the severe pain battering my skull and the ache forming behind my eyes.

Oh God, a hangover?

But I didn't drink that much did I?

I force my eye lids open, battling against the bright light filtering through the windows even as my head screams in protest.

"Good morning your royal ugliness. How are you feeling?" Malcolm's voice comes from somewhere above me.

"Like the fucking moon fell on me," I rasp out and cough because of my parched throat. "Now I know how Tony felt."

"You and your movie references." I can practically hear the eye roll in his voice.

I push myself into a sitting position just as he hands me a glass of water and some aspirin. I gratefully accept it, swallowing the pills and guzzling the water down like I just walked ten miles in the Sahara desert.

I'm a little muddle-headed and can only remember bits and pieces from last night. Only one thing—or should I say, only one person— remains at the forefront of my mind.

Thinking about him, a mixture of relief and disappointment spreads through me. More of the latter if I'm being honest with myself.

Trying to cheer up, I tell myself to look on the bright side.

I wouldn't want to have anything to do with someone whose first impression of me is my crazy, drunk ass, right?

Damn right.

Besides, he's infinitely out of my league.

His face is probably gracing some big ass billboard advertisement. He could have any woman he wanted, whether it's runway models or Hollywood beauties.

For all I know, he could be wearing a pink tutu and they'd probably still happily get naked with him.

Meanwhile, I'm a half-breed chick who barely has a social life, has only two close men in her life—that being my dad and Malcolm—and sees relationships as doomsday-level trouble.

I know, I know. It doesn't make any sense.

I literally help repair relationships, so I should be a strong believer in love and all that shit. But I've drawn a very prominent line between my personal life and work life.

But honestly, that's just a nicer way of saying—

I'm fucked up.

I lumber to my feet, relieved that I'm not on my bed because after a whole night at the club, I reek of alcohol, sweat and smoke. And I absolutely hate lying on my bed in dirty clothes.

Joining Malcolm in the kitchen, I pull out a stool by the counter and plop down in it. "So what happened exactly?"

As he goes through my refrigerator with his back turned, I take a bite out of the burger sitting on his plate.

"Well, a fight broke out then– Hey! That's mine!" he exclaims when he turns around and sees me devouring his burger.

My inner-self rears up with an evil glint in her eyes, so I slather the whole burger with my saliva.