Stranded | Enemies to Forbidden Lovers ✔️

Chapter 29

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Chapter 29

I awake to an empty room, a headache, and an aching pelvis. I feel like crap, a flaming pile a crap that deserves to be flush down the toilet. But, this pain is nothing compared to what I've endured the past month or so. Jackson, you were fun, but you weren't enough. I'm more sorry about that than I know that you are. Jackson left with me with some pretty words, a wet bottom, and took my number with him. I'm grateful for the help but it seems like my feelings for Joseph are still there.

Jackson, I hope you get the balls to tell her the truth. I'm glad he told me about his own love life. It helped me go to sleep a bit, thinking about someone's love life rather than my own.

He should tell her how he truly feels; it would be nice to know one of our love stories will have a happy ending. I get up from the bed, ignoring the aches and my body's screams telling me to lay down in bed and just exist. I shower, washing off my late-night escapades, and watch as it go down the drain. I hear my door open, it's my mother. The only other person who has the delight of opening up my door at any hour of the day-typical for her to do. It's not uncommon for her to walk in during my most private of times.

When I hear her unapologetically loud yawn followed by a few curses. I take my leave out of the shower and look her in the eyes. She inspects my fresh face and rosy cheeks. She looks at my neck, then my collar, taking note of all my features. I tighten my towel around my body when a cold chill comes over my body.

She opens her mouth then grits her teeth. "Next time you bring someone over to spend the night with. Please, for the love of God do it in their rooms." The banging, the moaning, she heard it all. I'm sorry mother, but it was worth it.

"I'm sorry mother. I'll take what you said into account." She settles her purse on the coach and huffs. "So...What is the media saying about the interview yesterday?"

She takes out her phone and crosses one leg over the other. She looks at the mess on the floor. The clothes, the bottles of alcohol, and the pair of panties on the floor. My mother must surely think I'm the highest caliber of class right about now. Sleeping with a random man, to get over Joseph. Getting drunk out of my mind and then sleeping in at an ungodly hour of ten am compared to my usual eight.

"The media are saying that you are a strong woman that's survived a horrible situation and they can't wait for your future in engineering."

That's the media, The New York Times to be more specific. But, that doesn't matter, that's not the people's true opinions. That's just the opinions of a newspaper that my family owns part of. I roll my eyes, "lovely. Now, what is Twitter saying?"

Her breathing stiffens, it's probably bad, rude, misogynistic, or prejudice or a weird combination of all of them put together. The internet is a cruel place, and even crueler when you're well known across the country. "Alice... I don't think it matters."

That means it's bad, very bad. So bad that even my mother is hiding something from me. Probably so, to not trigger a sudden panic attack or mental breakdown that I have yet to have like everyone is expecting. If it was good she would have told me and smiled. Well, not smile but she would have shown me or gladly read it out loud. Something, along the lines of, oh, Alice! Twitter loves you, or something like that. But, instead, it's shit, absolute shit that is plastered on her Twitter wall about her on edge daughter.

In the year I was gone, and I was handed a brand new iPhone. I found out a few things, Snapchat was dead, an app called TikTok was on the rise, and the newfound horrors of Twitter and the toxicity it contains. I grab my phone from the nightstand much to my mother's dismay. I take a seat on the bed and open up the blue bird app.