The Right Side of the Wrong Bed || Bruno Mars

Chapter 35

Part II: The Right Side

 

 

 

Faye

I opened my eyes just a crack, the morning light not allowing me to open them further as it forced itself and blinded my vision. My hand flew to my right eye and once I rubbed it, I felt something hard and cold against my eyelid. I tried my best to squeeze my eyes open, fighting the pain the light brought.

Adjusting my vision to the bloody light, I fluttered my eyelids until it didn't hurt to see anymore.

The first thing that greeted my eyes was the white ceiling

then they darted to my right hand that still brushed my face and where a diamond ring was around my finger

then the bookshelves at my feet

the white ceiling

and then back again to the diamond ring—

My eyes widened. I had to stare some more at the material to convince myself that it really was a diamond ring and not a plain gold one. I shot my body up in one swift motion; a pang of ache rang in my head which I ignored.

Pink walls. I gasped and whipped my head around.

Bright with panic, my eyes roamed around the place, brushing past every object and not missing one: Books stacked neatly on the bookshelves. A sliding door to a walk-in closet. A dresser. Polaroids pinned randomly on the wall the bed was leaning against. A bedside drawer where a lampshade patterned with flowers, an alarm clock shaped like the head of a cat, and a small music box that revealed a dancing ballerina when opened, all sat. A painting of Margot Fonteyn, one of the greatest prima ballerinas ever. White and light pink coloured sheets and pillows. White curtains that were drawn back, very generously letting in light into the room. And pink walls, not cream but pink, pink walls!

I tipped my head down to see what I was wearing. The necklace was gone from my neck. Blue jeans. Gray sweater. I was in an outfit which, as far as I can remember, I had last worn the night I went to Trance Club—

Horror clotted my veins once realization smacked me in the face with such immense force. Suddenly, I was spinning, stranded in the middle of the ocean, having no idea of what was going on. Everything felt unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. I was in my room. My room. In my parents' house. In New York City!

H o w . . . ?

A spiral of questions in my head: What am I doing in New York? Why am I in my old clothes? Why am I wearing my engagement ring from Kyle? Where is Bruno—

"Bruno?" the first thing I cried. I felt for the sheets, stupidly hoping I get in contact with his flesh. But the only things that were there were the vacancy and the absence of him. "Bruno?" I cried once more, my throat tightening.

The door flew open. "Good morning!" A girl in a white tank top and sweat pants emerged in the room. "Oh, you're awake!" she chirped.

"Eleanor!" I yelped.

"Surprise, surprise!" she sang, walking towards my bed where she sat on the bottom edge, her blonde hair tumbling down her chest and neck in luscious curls. "I just touched down last night," she informed, her blue eyes like our father's dancing with excitement.

"What are you doing here?"

"Duh, it's my half term break," she muttered.

My sister Eleanor was away for college, studying law in London. She stayed there with my grandparents and goes home only during her college breaks. Well, as a daughter of our father who was a lawyer, she was trained to be one too. I was more like my mother who loved art and did ballet as well when she was young. I didn't have an obsession for flowers though.