Equivalent

12 | Kidnapped

Lila

The most painful throbbing headache I've had since last year pounds at me before I even open my eyes. I groan, lifting my arm to rub my head through my messy pile of hair. It didn't help that the sun was gleaming directly at my eyes through the tiny space between the curtains.

Curtains I did NOT recognize. 

I freeze before rubbing the crust out of my eyes and looking around. I'm in a living room. Not mine, but entirely someone else's. Oh my god. What happened last night?

I try to recount my memory from only hours before, but it feels like I'm playing a game of pac man with my brain, pac being my memory and the ghosts being the headache. I try to escape it, but I'm overwhelmed.

Sitting in an upright position, the navy blue fluffy blanket thrown across my body slides off. I try to recall if this is a place I've been in before or if someone has kidnapped me and I'm a victim of a hostage situation. 

The place was fairly nice. Messy, but nice. The theme was black and shades of gray and white made me think that it most definitely belonged to a boy. The walls were void of any decoration and there were no pictures around to give me a hint on whose home this was. 

I craned my neck to look at the kitchen, which had the same theme of colors, but the island was practically covered in beer cans and bottles, so you could barely see the color of the granite. I groan rubbing my face with the palm of my hand.

What the hell had I gotten myself into? How much did I drink?

I remember the first one, the Smirnoff. Oh yeah, that shit was good. I hated things that tasted too much like alcohol. Total gag.

Then my memory slowly hits me. I met Henry. I played Henry in cup pong. I kissed Henry. Then the world goes dark after that.

I fucking kissed Henry! What was I thinking?

I feel my chest start to palpitate wildly, and my headache is the farthest thing from my mind now. My eyes shift to my clothes. I'm covered in a large tee that has the words Demitriot sprawled across it. Oh fuck.

I'm on my feet in seconds, scrambling to find my phone, when I realize I'm in a completely different shirt. Fuck, holy shit, did we... I stand there questioning myself. 

No way. I'm sure I would've remembered getting fucked by a beastlike hockey player.

I'm on my hands and knees, searching through the blanket, throwing a few pillows around, and shoving my hands in between the cushions. I needed to find my phone.

"What's the rush, Shortcake?" Someone says from behind the couch, and I stop in my movements. I slowly lift my head and stand up. Henry stands there with his hair tousled, wearing a navy blue hoodie and plaid pajama pants. I could see dried drool from the corner of his mouth as he shoots me a wide grin earning him a scowl on my end.

"Who changed me?" I ask, crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes at him. His expression doesn't falter, and this only makes me more annoyed. My eyes catch my zip-up placed neatly on the small table beside the couch, and I snatch it. 

"You might want to put that in the wash," He says before stalking over to the refrigerator and throwing the door open. I turn the sweater over and see a large wet stain covering the front. Embarrassment crawls up my neck when I realize that I'd probably thrown up in front of him last night. 

"Oh my god," I drop the sweater back on the table and rub a hand over my face. I open my eyes and watch as Henry slowly stalks toward me with a bottle of water and a clenched hand. He sticks his palm out, and in it is a small pill which I assume is Tylenol or could be acid.