Lucilfer (ChrolloxReader)

Chapter 39

The spinning sensation had subsided completely, but everything still felt mildly surreal, lucid, shifty. It wasn't uncomfortable, but if I focused on it too entirely, I got the feeling I might experience mild claustrophobia, as if I was stuck in some ethereal time loop.

Am I still high?

Emitting an exasperated groan, I raised my hands to my face, just to darken the atmosphere enough to coax my eyes into opening. My limbs felt slow and heavy, but not stiflingly so—perhaps this was some sort of leftover sensation after falling asleep with all of that in my system. I hadn't consumed any food or water the night before, so it all must have hit much harder than normal.

Wait, where did I fall asleep?

My brows lowered in concentration as I tried to decide whether or not I was uncomfortable. There was none of the hard, rocky surfaces around me like there had been when I'd fallen asleep, and I wasn't cold anymore. God, I'd been so cold the previous night—the convulsing shudders never seemed to cease, even when I couldn't feel the icy air. So, why was I warm?

Am I still on the roof?

My brain still felt like it was lagging, the racing thoughts having calmed to a standstill and leaving a perplexing, dreamlike peace. But as I finally began tuning into my body, the warmth encasing me, I could feel that I wasn't on a stone roof, and there weren't any arms around me. Instead, I felt pillows beneath my head and a soft surface under me, with silky blankets piled on top of me.

Lowering my hands, and dragging my cheeks down in the process, I forced my weighty eyelids open, screwing up my dotty vision to decipher the details of where I was. Familiar shapes and colors flitted here and there, and slowly, I could make out the black of the bedsheets and the pillows, the wine red of the microfluff blankets, and the glint of something silver hanging heavily from the ornate bedposts. On the floor, dark wood was obscured by a few dense, expensive carpets, and the tall wardrobe loomed between the closet and the bathroom doors. A few books were splayed messily around on the ground. I was back in Chrollo's bed, in his room.

Where is he? When did he take me back down?

Carefully, cautiously, I pushed myself up onto my elbows, my lightheadedness increasing a bit and the mild pounding shifting over to my temples and behind my eyes. I inhaled deeply, if just to bring more oxygen into my gaze, and dragged my body to balance on my knees, the blankets still haphazardly laid over my shoulders. He wasn't on the bed, but it looked as though he might have been there earlier—the sheets and the other set of fluffy blankets were disturbed.

Pursing my lips in frustration, I sighed and slumped my shoulders, my half-aware, groggy mind still working through the ringing in my ears and trying to pay attention to any outside noises. But there was none that I could process.

The light shining in from the balcony doors and open curtains was far too bright for morning, so I forced my stiff body to crawl over towards the bedside table. I wasn't even sure my phone would have been there, but it was a good guess, and it proved to be correct—Chrollo's phone was there, too, but his gages weren't.

12:49 p.m.

My jaw dropped in surprise—that meant I slept for over twelve hours, and I was still experiencing an after high. How many times had I drawn from the joint? Four or five times, maybe? And then Chrollo had finished the rest. I wondered if he was still being affected by it.

Next to our phones, I saw a glass of water and a few ibuprofen pills. I sighed in relief and grabbed the cup, downing the pills and every drop of water—my mouth was a bad-tasting wool patch, and the hydration was desperately needed. As I did so, though, I realized my hair felt damp against my neck, and curiously, I reached up to run my fingers through it.