Style // 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙇𝙚𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙧𝙘

14.

Saturday

I wake up sprawled all over a bed that isn't my own, like a doll some child has thrown. Still in last night's outfit, except it barely covers my body anymore. How do I react, you ask?

Panic.

"Holy shit." I mumble to myself, grabbing the duvet and tucking it under my chin whilst I try and redo the poxy little tie on the back of my dress.

I use my eyes to glance around the room I'm in, the sweltering pain in my temple making it harder to try and recognise my surroundings. It feels very antique, yet modern. Soft, cream sheets cloaking the bed; long, draping curtains that skim the floor. Candles and mantlepieces everywhere, from Greek Gods to random, intimate, nude parts of the body. A clock on the bedside table ticking away every second I'm wasting, and a mirror in an expensive looking frame at the end of the bed, resting against the wall.

God I look hideous. At least I had the decency to take my make up off this time.

And why won't this stupid dress tie up! Fuck! Easy enough for blacked-out me to untie it last night, but too much of a task for sober me to do it up! I'm just about as capable of tying something behind my back as I am writing with my left hand!

In the corner of the room is a plastic washing basket, the lid falling inwards on its self. What a weird thing to have in such a luxurious room? I cover my chest with my hands as I wander over to it, finding a jumper and a pair of joggers inside. Good! Perfect! That'll do!

I must've gone home with Elliot last night. I don't recognise this room, and that's the only explanation I can come up with. I could've guessed that his salary was generous, but I didn't realise he was minted? How much does a lawyer's assistant even make? I look back to the bed I've spent the entire night on, trying to find any trace of someone else sleeping with me last night. There's no clothes, shoes, belongings, nothing.

Wait, did I sleep with Elliot?! The way I woke up, there's no way I move that much in my sleep, especially after drinking! Shit! The last thing I remember is going to order another drink at the private bar, what a stupid idea! Let's get so drunk that I can't remember fuck all ! Well done Emma! Right, he'll be here somewhere. All I need to do is find him and ask, and hopefully he didn't drink so much that he doesn't remember either. The last thing I need is a surprise pregnancy with a man in the middle of a fling, and I'm not even his fling!

I tie the joggers as tight as I can, the men's waistband clearly not designed to fit a woman's figure. Then, with a hesitant hand, I twist the door knob and escape out the bedroom. This feels like a glamorous horror maze. I stick close to the wall, squeezing the excess sleeve of the oversized hoodie covering my hands. I feel like a child, the palpitations in my chest getting higher and higher as I get to the end of the corner.

The corridor ends, and I'm stood out in the open. My eyes cast straight towards the open kitchen, where a pair of green eyes stare straight back at me.

"Morning."

My jaw drops in utter shock. Either I've somehow gone home with Charles, or Charles followed me and Elliot home and killed him whilst we were sleeping. It's probably the first explanation, but the second explanation makes my disbelief pretty clear.

"What-" I can barely get my words out, hardly giving a flying toss that he's stood there shirtless.

"Nice jumper." Charles states, looking at the fabric drowning out my body.

"Thanks, it was in the dirty laundry bas- hang on-!" I pause my sentence, putting my head in my hands. "How the hell am I here?"

"I took you home." Charles explains, leaning forward onto the kitchen counter as he talks to me. "Stella went home with Mark, she's fine."

Mark? I can't remember Mark's face, at all. Charles watches as my expression goes blank, a bit like my memory. Foggy, and black. A flurry of random songs, flashing lights and dancing. Last night could've been mine and Stella's best night out ever, yet I can't remember half of what we did. I know we had the lounge, and we had a white party, but nothing else comes to mind.

"How did I end up with you?" I ask bluntly, pointing a finger at him.

Charles chuckles, standing up and crossing his arms. "Am I that bad to be around?"

"Oh my God, no no-"

"It's ok, just a joke." He interrupts my apology. "Elliot became a handful, so I took you home."

"That's it?" I ask, getting a nod back in response. "Ok?"

I sigh in relief, looking out the windows at the blue sky outside. A pair of heels in the corner of my eye catch my attention, ditched near the sofa. I'd never take my heels off beyond the front door, let alone leave them in such a mess in someone else's house. The pillows are flattened, and a screwed up shirt is just a fraction away from my shoes. Nerves build up in my stomach as I remember what I wanted to ask 'Elliot' before I found out I was in Charles' flat.

Charles follows my gaze, landing on disheveled sofa in the middle of the room. His eyebrows raise, and he clears his throat before looking back to me. I open my lips, my voice moments away from asking the doomed question, then I spot the bruise on his neck. Small, and fairly light, with a lipstick stain looped around it. Like a halo from the devil.

"We didn't sleep together." Charles shakes his head, and I could've screamed with joy. "We had fun, but nothing else."

"Fun." I repeat, tilting my head a little. "So that's why my dress was undone when I woke up?"

Charles looks down as his face flushes, a cocky and devious smirk growing on his face. "And that's why my shirt is on the floor."

Oh whoops. Ok! So, never trust myself when I'm black out drunk and around Charles! Thank God I had some form of self control, or something embarrassing happened that brought our 'fun' to a stop. I look over to Charles, who's still trying to get rid of the colour heating up his face. It reminds me of when we first met, the way we both blushed when we did anything romantic. A basic kiss on the cheek would make me turn beetroot red.

You'd think nothing has changed between us since we were younger. Yet, so much has. Enough that we could make a story out of it, and the reader would refuse to believe that all our drama has happened in just a few years rather than a lifetime.

I'm getting too carried away again, like we'll ever go back to normal. I clear my throat as I look around for the rest of my stuff. "I should probably get going."

"Alright, do you want me to drop you off?" Charles offers, making his way towards the sofa to retrieve his shirt.

"If you don't mind, please." I nod. "Just to the road across would be great."

"Of course, never your place."