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March 13, 2016
I wake up feeling as though Harry had run over me with his tour bus - multiple times.
I've got a pounding headache, but I'm not sure if I drank enough to have a hangover. Also, I also am sorer between the legs more than I've ever been in my life. Trying to walk without looking like a newborn giraffe is going to be a challenge. On top of all that I'm feeling an overwhelming sense of melancholy I can only assume is a side effect from yesterdays breakup. And lastly, I'm sweating buckets and I can barely breathe - Harry is proven to be the cause, when I finally shake the sleepy drowse. He has both arms wrapped around me and is cuddled into my chest, borderline on top of me, not to mention he's a human furnace.
The bedside clock reads 7:04 a.m. Shit. I'm praying we stayed up late enough last night that Harry will need to sleep in longer - hell, I need to sleep in longer. But I need to get out of here as soon as possible. One night. It was one night. I can't let myself go any further. I'm never going to see him again as long as I can slip out unnoticed.
As nonchalantly as possible, I move my body as though I'm simply adjusting in my sleep, flipping us over so that I'm laying on his chest, rather than the other way around. I lie there for a few moments, making sure I didn't wake the man beneath me, before I slowly untangle myself from his ultra long limbs. I've never seen someone with arms as long as his. Or fingers. Or -
I tiptoed around the room, in search of my clothes. My panties were ripped and lying in a heap on the floor, and my dress was trashed - mangled as if I had wrestled a feral cat the night before. I found Harry's briefs at the end of the bed and slipped them on like shorts, also taking the plain black hoodie he'd worn the night before. I hope he won't mind that I'm stealing his clothes - in my defense he is the one that ripped my dress - I'll have to be sure to mail them back tomorrow after I've washed them. I grab both heels from opposite ends on the room and carry them with me through the house and all the way to the front door where I slip them onto my bare feet. As silently as possible, I crack open the front door, bracing myself for an alarm system of sorts to go off, letting out a breath when it doesn't, and creep out onto the front porch.
I make my way down the enormous driveway, feeling much too small and out of place to be out here alone. I feel like a trespasser. There's an odd sense that I'm being watched since the surrounding area is so large and closed off, not to mention the security cameras that are mounted on every available surface.
After much frustration trying to figure out how to open the iron front gate, I climb over it. I opt to take off my heels and just walk barefoot for the sole reason of comfort. I pad down the sidewalk and through the high end neighborhood in search of a bench or somewhere I can sit down to call my brother for a ride. Eventually, I stumble on small park, a grassy clearing - as grassy as you can find in California heat. I stop nonetheless and pull out my iphone to call for a ride.
"I swear to god, Sienna, if you don't have a good reason to wake me at this hour I'm going to kill you." My brother speaks through the line bitterly. Glad to hear he was worried about me when I didn't come home last night.
