Cut!

Take 21 - Midnight Memories - Part 1

A/N: Comment as you read, please. 

The next morning, I woke up with a loud groan. My neck ached badly, and I had a strong suspicion that I’d slept in an odd position. Most of all, I was painfully aware of the lack of a certain Harry Styles in my bed.

I snorted. That had to be a problem that millions of girls struggled with on a daily basis.

Laughing at my own poor joke, I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. In the daylight, the room was even more beautiful than last night, and I found a gazillion of new things to look at. Most of all, I was sort of surprised at the reflective ceiling above me. Somehow, it didn’t surprise me that there were people who found that extremely appealing, but to me it was just weird.

I mean, I could see myself in all my morning glory. My damaged hair had collected itself as a weirdly shaped halo around my head, my loose t-shirt had moved down exposing my bra, and the sheets only covered one of my legs. I hadn’t noticed before, but I could see a slight tan line where the edge of my shorts used to be. Now, the fabric had etched itself higher.

Frowning, I realized that I looked like I’d been thoroughly shagged. At least what I’d imagine I’d look like post-sex. Of course, without the actual sex—I was very confident in that part. If sex had been a part of my night, I’m fairly sure I wouldn’t be wearing clothes.

That’s how it worked, right?

I stuck my tongue out at myself, making faces to my reflection. Where did all these thoughts of sex come from? It couldn’t just be because I shared a bed with Harry. I’d done that before, but there hadn’t been a problem. Maybe it was aftermaths of the make-out session in the pool.

In all honesty, I was trying my best not to think about the day before. I knew that if I allowed myself to linger on it, I would become emotional from having lost yet another flower. A stupid, silly thing that meant a lot to me.

It was kind of ironic that something as simple as that was all I could focus on after someone broke into my room. There were a million other things that could have happened, but of course, the flower was my priority.

I had issues.

My hand trailed little patterns over the bare skin on my hip as I stared into my own eyes. It felt nice, and if I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend it wasn’t my own touch. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, and I knew exactly who I was imagining—

Crap! My eyes jerked open, and I sat up straight. I had a shoot today, and I was going to be late. Tumbling out of bed, my body complained at every movement. I moved over to my luggage, which was still unpacked from when Harry brought it up.

As I rumbled through the clothes to find out what to wear, I began to notice how neatly everything was folded. Did the police fold and pack my bag or…

I swallowed. Did Harry pack my bag? That would mean he’d seen my underwear. It wasn’t any particular embarrassing underwear, but the thought still brought heat to my face.

Grabbing the clean clothes, I figured that a cold shower would do wonders to shake the remnants of the shock away. The events from last night weren’t going to ruin my sister’s career. Even if I had to paint a smile on with a cherry red lipstick, then I’d still get through this day without wallowing.

The room only had two doors, and my guess was that the second door was the bathroom. Whistling a happy tune to myself, I walked over and right out into the bathroom.

It took me approximately half a second to register the wet tiles beneath the soles of my feet. The rest of the second was spent in shock horror at the pain in my face. I had run face-first straight into Harry’s chest.