Conflicted (H.S)

Chapter 4

I was awoken by a sickening churning in my stomach, forcing me to immediately squint open my eyes. A burning sensation suddenly appeared as the light streaming through a gap in the cream coloured curtains infiltrated my eyes. I winced aloud at the splitting headache developing in my temples. I lurched forward as I felt the overwhelming urge to empty my stomach. Quickly removing myself from the bed, I faintly took notice of the fact that I wasn’t in my own bedroom, but I didn’t have any time to dwell on this as I really didn’t want to throw up on the soft carpet. Scanning the room, my eyes landed on a door to my right. Hoping and praying to all of the gods that it is in fact a bathroom, I scurried forward and opened the door. I almost cried in happiness at the sight of the porcelain toilet bowl. Instead, I latched myself onto the bowl and rid my stomach of possibly everything I’d eaten for the past week.

I searched my brain in an attempt to remember the events of the night before, or even where on Earth I could possibly be. However, I did vividly remember walking in on Jesse and that bimbo yesterday. At that thought, I lurched forward and emptied my stomach once again, the memories entirely too sickening to deal with.

After a few minutes, my stomach had finally settled and I stood up to glance at my appearance in the mirror. I cringed, taking in my naked body and scanning over the abundance of deep purple hickeys scattered around my neck and torso. I safely assumed I had fun the night before, but with whom? I had no idea, but it looked like we had a good time.

Sighing deeply, I took note of the horrible stench wafting from my mouth. Gagging slightly, I glanced down at the hand basin in search of some toothpaste or mouthwash to rid my mouth of the reeking combination of alcohol and morning breath that had accumulated.

Gathering my wits, I set on searching the spacious bathroom for a spare t-shirt, finding a white one in the clothes hamper by the door. Pulling it over my head, I gingerly made my way back into the stranger’s bedroom, stopping dead in my tracks. Taking in the body sitting up against the headboard, all the colour drained from my face as I realised whose bedroom I was actually in. Holy Fuck.

“Morning, babe,” that stupid smirk plastered on his face, “feeling alright?”

“F-f-fine, thank you,” I replied, dying silently inside at the reappearance of my nervous stutter.

Harry began laughing loudly, giving me time to fully take in his glorious appearance. Wild brunette locks that looked like they’d been mercilessly tugged (probably by me), his hands propping up his head, toned and tattoo biceps and torso on full view.  Lowering my gaze, I was very grateful, yet oddly disappointed, at the sheet covering the lower part of Harry’s body, knowing that if it wasn’t there, I’d be redder than a tomato and I probably would have passed out at that point.

“Babe, after last night, there is no need to be nervous around me,” he said, still chuckling slightly. By now, I was about ready to dig a hole in the ground and bury myself to escape the mortification I was experiencing, made worse by the fact that I didn’t remember much of last night, and that I’d just thrown up in Harry Styles’ toilet.

My wallowing was cut short, however, by a buzzing sound coming from my clutch on the bedside table. Pacing over to the side of the bed, I removed my phone from my clutch, cursing under my breath as I saw an incoming call from “It’s Chelsea, Bitch :P”.

I rushed back into the bathroom, hesitantly answering the call while preparing to have my ass handed to me on a silver platter.

Answering with a calm “hello”, I was immediately cut off by Chelsea screaming down the phone and I’m reminded of the headache that is ever present in my skull, “WHERE THE HELL IS YOUR SKANKY ASS?!”

“Shut up for a second! I have a killer headache and you aren’t making it any better!” I whispered harshly, trying to keep my voice down so that the Greek God in the bedroom won’t hear me.

“Jesus, you’ve been kidnapped or something, haven’t you? Or arrested? Are we your one phone call?” I hear Kate ramble, making her lovely self known to me (note the sarcasm).

“Oh, just shut up and listen, will you? Jesus,” I replied, annoyance and irritation heavily laced throughout my words.

“FINE!”

“I’m with Harry Styles.”

An eerie silence overtook the conversation and for once in both of their lives, Chelsea and Kate are speechless, and I completely revel in it.

“Guys? You still there?” it had been at least thirty seconds, so I figured it was about time to break the silence.

“Wait, as in–”

“Yes, Harry Styles of One Direction, AKA the fucking Greek God, and he’s currently waiting for me in the bedroom, so I have to go. I’ll call you when I get home and we can talk then!” I quickly cut Chelsea off, eager to get back to Harry.

Hanging up the phone, I dropped my head and made my way back into the bedroom.

“Greek God, huh?” Harry mocked with a playful smirk gracing his pink lips.

A blush crept up the side of my neck and flared against my pale cheeks.

“Do you have any aspirin? My head is pounding I feel like death and I want food!” I dramatically stated, ignoring his teasing.  

Harry just laughed at me, “There’s aspirin downstairs and I’ll cook you something when we get down there.”

After locating my underwear and slipping them on, I followed him down the stairs and towards the kitchen.

Rounding the corner, Harry stopped dead in his tracks and I slammed into his back, a chorus of “HARRY”’s following soon after and I immediately recognised the look of embarrassment present on his face as it was incredibly similar to the one I wore earlier that morning.

"Shit."