The clock. Black with a silver lining around it, displaying the luminous glow of the time, reading: 6:28AM. If it weren’t for the bright light seeping from the hallway bathroom and crawling underneath Harry’s bedroom door and invading the darkness of the room and lingering over London’s face, it would’ve been serene.
She crinkles her nose up in her sleep and a few seconds later, she squints her eyes, and when they are moderately open, an earsplitting sound booms inside of the room, oscillating between high and low pitches. Her whole body jolts forward at the noise and the sudden action causes an unfathomable excruciating pounding in her head. Grimacing, she steadies her head in her hands in an attempt to halt the consistent pounding. It feels like someone is hitting her in the head repeatedly with a baseball bat.
Slowly, London turns her head to the side, she extends her arm to the side to turn the alarm off, and then she frowns when she realizes how far away it is. She turns to Harry for help and he’s sound asleep. Ugh. She scoots herself halfway off the bed, rests all her weight on one elbow, and she tries again. Her fingers, as well as her right arm, lengthen until they can no more, and as her middle finger finally shuts the alarm off, she falls off the bed.
She hits the floor hard on her back and a half scream half groan leaves her mouth. “Oww!”
Harry rolls over onto his side, his large hand skims across the king sized bed, and his green eyes flutter open when he realizes London isn’t lying down in the bed beside him. He sits up in bed and the cool air makes the tiny hairs on his bare chest rise up. A yawn leaves his mouth, and in a deep gravelly voice, he says, “London?”
A muffled groan resounds and he wipes at his eyes before getting out of bed and following the sound. He walks around the bed and he stops once he sees her sprawled over the floor in distress. Her arms and legs are spread outward, resembling a starfish.
She lays there immobilized and she squints her eyes up at him. “Am I dreaming?”
She tries to get up but she immediately stops when she feels the whole room start to spin wildly.
“No,” he says. If London was someone else, he probably would’ve been so annoyed right now and would refrain himself from helping them. He finds her drunkenness and dumbfoundedness adorable for some reason; he can’t find himself being upset with her like this. “Are you alright?”
“I can’t feel my ass,” she says, her whole body feels numb. “I think it’s broken.”
Smiling, he shakes his head at her. She’s still as drunk as she was four hours ago. “How much did you drink?”
“A teenie weenie eenie bit.”
“A sip or two . . . a lot?” she says, low enough for only herself to hear.
“Yeah, it was a sip or two or three or four or five or six or one or two or ten or three . . .?”
Harry goes to pick her up off the floor and her hand halts him. “I’m hungry,” she says. “I want some bacon. Yeah. Bacon sounds wonderful. Do you like bacon? Because I love bacon so much. It’s salty, crispy, and perfect! Maybe we can have bacon sandwiches!”
A bacon sandwich, as well as many other home remedies passed down from generation to generation, happens to diminish the intensity of hangovers. The bread provides an adequate amount of carbohydrates, the bacon is full of protein, and they both work together, as a team, to replenish the body after it’s been intoxicated and dehydrated by alcohol.
Harry scratches his head and he peers at the clock. 6:43AM. It’s early. “Um—yeah, sure. I guess we can eat bacon sandwiches. Is that all you want and do you want me to help you off the floor?”
YOU ARE READING
Bad Meets Good 2 {On Hold}
Fanfiction“There are three types of people,” he murmurs while gazing at her. “Those who come face to face with death unintentionally, ones who don’t have any control over it, and ones that greet it with open arms blatantly, which is you, darling. And it’s a p...
