Broken Pieces

| Chapter 3 |

Various moments afterwards, I found myself still lying next to Ryan, a sigh escaping my lips at the thought of lifting my tired limbs from the comfortable bed.

However as the thought Brooklyn searching the house for me crossed my mind, I pushed away the sharp pain that shot through me as I forced my body upwards, proceeding to snatch my phone from where it lied on the soft carpet of his room -- only to be greeted with countless texts from none other than my best friend, irritation swirling inside of my stomach at the mere sight of my spammed phone screen.

"Holy shit!" I hissed, hurriedly gathering my clothes from around the floor before throwing them on, attempting to analyze a believable story that could eliminate anyone's suspicions regarding what I'd been doing during the time I disappeared.

At the sight of my frantic movements, Ryan sat up in the bed, his eyebrows furrowed as he observed me. "What's wrong?"

"Other than the fact that Brooklyn must be looking everywhere for me right now? Nothing, Ryan. Just nothing." I hated the whiny tone my voice held, but it was the last thing inside my mind as I stared at my disheveled appearance on the mirror. "And God, it fucking hurts down there. Couldn't have you gone easier on me? Damn," I continued, not an ounce of guilt inside my body at the fact that I was taking my frustrations out on him for no good reason.

"Sorry, but you weren't complaining earlier," He muttered, irritation not only evident in his own tone, but in the expression that etched to his features. "Why do you care if she's looking for you anyway?"

I lowered my head, allowing for my hair to fall forward in order to hide the red tinge that appeared on my cheeks due to his previous comment. "Because like I said before, I don't want her to find out about what happened between us yet, and the longer I take in going out there, the harder it'll be to convince her that I didn't do anything stupid."

His expression turned from irritated to hurt in a matter of seconds, my stomach sinking with a mixture of guilt and regret at what I had just said, knowing deep inside of me that he'd taken it the wrong way. "Oh, so sleeping with me was stupid?" He asked, his tone angered, almost daring me to confirm his suspicions.

"No!" I immediately denied, my heart racing as I thought of what to say --internally panicking at the thought of him assuming that I regretted what'd happened between us. "She was just against of the idea of us sleeping together, and I don't want to ruin the night. Can we just go?"

He thankfully looked satisfied with my answer, all signs of previous irritation vanishing as he rubbed his face in frustration, lifting himself from the bed with a groan. "I don't wanna go out there with all those drunks. Shit, I don't even know why the hell I threw this fucking party. Its not like I drink."

My mind inevitably wondered off to all of the parties he had attended, toward the reputation he'd built for himself along the years, and suddenly what he admitted seemed incredibly hard to believe. "There's no way that Mr. Bad boy player doesn't drink," I joked, the slight amount of seriousness only subject of my knowledge -- however upon taking in the aggravated expression on his face, I knew that he hadn't at all taken it as a joke.

"Yeah, well I'd rather not get into that subject with you." I flinched at his sharp tone, intimidated by the menacing glare that he sent me as he got off the bed and proceeded to gather his clothes, my stomach sinking at the sudden mood changes he was having.

"Don't you ever talk to me like that again." My voice dripped with venom, perfectly matching his tone, and I turned to leave before I allowed for the anger that slowly spread through my entire body to take full control, making me do something regrettable -- however it was his strong hand wrapping around my wrist that stopped me before I could even turn the doorknob.