Chapter 4 - The Wrong Bedroom

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Chapter 4 - The Wrong Bedroom

I don't remember much from the party. It's mainly just colorful, blurred pictures of people jumping around and dancing. What I do know is I drank way too much, and that memory is provided courtesy of a pounding headache when I wake up the next morning. I could barely open my eyes without my head feeling like it would split open.

Immediately, my stomach fell open and dropped a million feet to China. What exactly had I spent my night doing? If you've never experienced it, then let me tell you, a memory blank is completely terrifying. There are hours of your life that you have no know clue who you spoke to or what you did. Messing up and making mistakes is bad enough, but when you can't remember it's even worse.

I forced myself to sit up in bed, despite my stomach threatening to lose my dinner. I was in my room, tucked safely in my bed. Leah, on the other hand, was sprawled out on the floor looking worse for wear. She was still in her party clothes, her makeup smeared under her eyes and her hair was a ratty mess. That was totally out of character for Leah, in her mind she always had to look perfect.

"Leah," I called, and then immediately quieted down when my skull burst with agonizing pain. I hissed, "Leah, come on! Wake up." She didn't wake up. Of course, she didn't, when Leah drank she went hard. If I was feeling worse than Charlie, our town drunk, I couldn't imagine what she was going through. "Leah!"

That did. She jerked up, throwing her head back and yelling, "Where's the fire?" As soon as the words left her mouth, a look of pain twisted up her face and she curled into a ball. I could tell she wasn't coming out of the fetal position any time soon, and although my heart went out to her, I needed answers, stat.

So, forcing myself to push back the barf that was trying to ruin my perfectly clean bedspread, I let myself drop to the ground and slowly crawl over to Leah. When I reached her, little whimpers were coming from her body, and she was rocking back and forth slightly. I swept the hair from her face and processed the look of pain.

"I think I gave myself alcohol poisoning," She finally muttered, eyes coming back into focus. I chuckled lightly and leaned back against the foot of my bed. Gosh, I was never going to a party again. Even if I had fun at the time, it was not worth it the next day. Trust me, it's better just to stay home like a loser.

"What exactly happened?" I asked, hoping she could answer the question. But, seeing as she had obviously drunk more than me, I didn't have much hope. "I mean, how did we even get here?"

She frowned, "Hell if I know. I'm just glad I didn't wake up naked in some strangers bed."

I was about to ask if that had been a problem in the past, but then I decided against it.

"Man," I groaned, rubbing my eyes. I could feel the crumbling makeup under my fingers and cringed at the thought of what I must look like. Hungover is not an attractive look. Glancing at the clock, my heart leaped. "Shit, Leah, you've got to go! It's almost eleven and my mom will be up any minute!"

The thought of my mom finding me and my friend in this condition was enough to have me on my feet. I quickly dragged Leah downstairs and shoved her out the front door, hoping that she would make it home safely. Then I ran upstairs as fast as I could because I could hear my mothers shower running and I knew that meant I only had a matter of minutes to make myself presentable.

Ten minutes in a steaming hot shower did not prove to be enough. There were still dark bags under my eyes, and my skin had faded to a yellowish color. The bottom line was I looked sick, and I felt like crap. My head was still pounding, and I didn't think I would be able to stomach any form of food for days.

After putting on sweat pants and a tank top, I decided to go downstairs. I looked as good as I was going to get, and I could only hope my mother wouldn't bring the hammer down on my head. God only knows what kinds of tortuous methods of inflicting physical pain she had learned during her Queen Bee days.

Mom was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in her hands. Those days she didn't get much sleep because of her job, but on that particular day, she looked especially exhausted. Her hair wasn't done and her face was makeup free, something that was quite unusual for a retired beauty queen. I was almost scared to approach her.

"Hi mom," I finally said, taking my seat next to her. Her head barely lifted as I sat down, and she quickly returned to her cup of coffee. "How was work last night?"

My mom was a surgeon. Even though she had been the prettiest girl in her high school, she had been top of her graduating class, too. It had taken her years because she had a kid in high school, but she had finally graduated medical school and was serving her intern year at our local hospital. It took a lot out of her, but she loved it.

"I...I lost my patience," She finally whispered, "He was a shooting victim so there wasn't much I could do, but I...It was my job to save him, and I couldn't do it." As her bottom lip trembled I finally understood the haunted look to her face. She had lost her first patient, something I knew for a fact she had been dreading.

I didn't know what to say. How do you console someone who just watched someone die, presumably while working vigorously to keep them from passing on? So, I did the only thing I could think of. I reached out slowly and gripped one of her warm hands, giving it a tight, reassuring squeeze. The attempt seemed minuscule, but it seemed to have the desired effect.

My mom looked up, giving me a small smile as she wiped away a tear with the heel of her free hand. "Sorry, this is ridiculous."

"No, it's not, mom. How many times did I cry over green beans when I was little?" She chuckled lightly and straightened her back. Just like that, I knew she was normal once again and had decided to ignore the depression that was clouding her brain. That's the thing with my mom; she was strong and had trouble letting herself be vulnerable.

Hints the sleeping pills.

"Thanks, hun," With a smile for my benefit, she grabbed her coffee mug and started to walk back to her bedroom to catch up on sleep. I felt bad for her, and I wondered how she was going to handle the long term effects. It would just be one of those things you have to wait out. Just as my mom was almost out of the room, she paused and turned slowly, "Oh, and Imogen? If you and Leah ever come back that late again, I will whoop both your asses."

If I had been drinking something, the liquid would've come sputtering from my mouth in a comical way like in the movies. Instead, a choked sound that I didn't know I could make came from my body, sounding like I had stepped on a dog's throat. At that, my mom chuckled, winked, and then disappeared without another word.

Oh my god, it's official, my mother was mental. She had lost her mind and taken a trip to Crazy Town. Shouldn't a mother care if her sixteen-year-old daughter was out till all hours of the night getting drunk off her rocker? Apparently not Ms. Hanson. No, she was probably more thrilled that I was finally acting like a normal teenager to care that I had broken the law.

After grabbing a Poptart for breakfast, I scurried back up to my room. I had a feeling my phone would have quite a few messages from Leah, cussing me out for throwing her onto the street in her condition. Yes, I felt bad, but it was a moment of panic and I had momentarily lost my good judgment.

Instead, when I checked my phone's recent calls pulled up. My heart almost literally jumped from my chest when I saw my most recent phone call; Wesley Logan, 2:13 AM. Why in the hell would I have called him?! I had spent my previous day in a bundle of muddled emotions - emotions which I had yet to clarify - and I had been really drunk. Who knows what I would've said!

"Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god," I muttered to myself, gripping a handful of my hair. "Fuck!" What was I supposed to do?! If I had called him, chances were I had left a message. Wesely was a heavy sleeper, so I knew he hadn't answered. But that also meant there was a voice message out there that he may or may not have heard with me spilling all my drunken secrets.

I can just see it now, 'Oh hey Wesley, I know we've been best friends forever but I think I might have a crush on you.'

No, that would not end well.

My brain had temporarily forgotten how to function. I'm pretty sure I stopped breathing for a full minute, and it wasn't until the room started to spin in front of me that I realized oxygen was a necessity. My heart was pounding, my palms were sweating, and when I finally started to breathe again the breaths came in short, frantic gasps. I was having a full out panic attack.

I'm not one for anxiety. Usually, I'm as cool as a cucumber and can deal with any stressful situation; including Leah's hysterical breakdown when she had realized she had drunkenly lost her virginity. I had stayed completely calm and even helped her to come to terms with it as well. That just goes to show how out of character it was for me to be hyperventilating.

If there was a message, I had to get rid of it before Wes could ever hear it. That message was meant for no one's ears, not even mine, and it needed to be destroyed before it could do any damage. And let me tell you right now, that damage would be catastrophic if the wrong person - aka anyone in the Logan household - heard my unconscious rambling.

There was an ivy fence covering a side of the Logan house, that much I knew. It covered the whole left side of the building, the side where the boys' bedrooms were located. When I was younger Wesley and I would climb up and down it to sneak out for a late night swim. But that was back when we were young enough to have sleepovers, and I didn't know if the fifteen-year-old siding could hold my weight.

I had to try, though. I was desperate enough to not care if I fell to my death trying to delete the message. At least then I wouldn't have to witness the repercussions of my stupid decisions. Without even grabbing shoes, I fled from my room and ran to the backyard. My book was still laying by the pool, undisturbed and probably free of spiders.

I didn't even stop to look, even though for a fleeting minute I desired to finish the chapter I was in the middle of. If I was to stop my world from ending, every second counted. I didn't have time for a pitstop to read about Clary and Jace's love life. Instead, I ran straight to the tall fence and started to climb.

Luckily for me, the supporting bars faced my house. Without their aid, there was no way I would've been able to scale the wooden barrier. I was not skilled enough in gymnastics, I was not muscular, nor did I possess unnaturally long legs that would allow me to hop over the fence. I had to struggle one step at a time.

As I dropped into the Logan's backyard, I realized two things. One was that the house was taller then I remembered, and the ivy fences had become suspiciously thinner. The other was that it was well past noon, which meant that Wesley had probably been awake for quite some time. My conquest was basically doomed from the start.

I had to try though, right? If there was even the slightest chance that I could get rid of the voice mail before he heard it, I had to take it. I was desperate, and pretty much willing to do anything. The feelings I had been feeling - which had yet to simmer down, I had just been ignoring them - were definitely not worth ending a fourteen-year-old friendship over.

Gulping roughly, I put one foot in front of the other and marched over to the house. As the building towered over me, I swallowed my fear and decided on the route I would take. Luck was on my side, because Wesley's bedroom window was wide open, letting in the warm summers breeze. All I had to do was make it to the top.

You can do this, I told myself, it's for the greater good. Now, I was fully aware I was being overdramatic, and I couldn't bring myself to care. At that moment the end of my world was terrifyingly near and it was within my power to do something about it. I could have been labeled the Worlds Biggest Drama Queen and I wouldn't have cared.

With one last gulp, I grabbed the ivy fence in my hands. It was rough, the paint chipping in places, but when I yanked it, it stayed firmly in place. So far, so good. My feet were next, resting in the little holes near the bottom of the house. I hoisted myself up, and after a few heart-wrenching creaks the fence settled and stayed in place.

This pattern continued all the way up. Every time I moved the ivy fence would creak and bend under my weight, but it never gave out. It was a good thing I hadn't eaten anything yet that day because if I had the little extra weight would've caused a problem. As it was, however, I made it to the top in about five minutes and was lucky enough that no one had driven down the road at that time.

I didn't need someone calling the cops, my day was already crappy enough.

Finally, my fingers reached the windowsill and curled around the inside edge. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pulled myself the last few inches. I went tumbling into the room head first and landed with a loud thud on the hard ground. My headache protested, and I hissed in pain while I tried to process my surroundings.

Now, I'm an awkward person in general. But when you throw me a curveball such as the one I received at that moment, I go a little bonkers. I have no control over my body or what comes out of my mouth, which would account for the next words that tumbled from my lips like word vomit. You see, instead of seeing Wesley Logan, I saw the other brother.

Grayson stood in front of me, butt naked, with a towel hung dangerously low over his hips, and a hand towel drying his dripping wet hair. His chest was completely bare, displaying abs so prominent they belonged in a magazine. For real, he looked like he could be a male model.

"Imogen?" He questioned, obviously still trying to process my sudden appearance. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

I was still in my shocked state, and the words that came out of my mouth was a testimony to that statement. "Holy abs," I breathed, staring at his abdomen. I wasn't even trying to hide it, which if I had been in my right mind would've embarrassed me to no end.

He smirked, "Like what you see?" That was enough to wake me up. I pushed myself off of the ground, shook my head a few times, and straightened my shirt, attempting to make myself look dignified. Upon further inspection, I realized this was definitely not Wesley's bedroom. Nope, not by a long shot.

While Wes kept his room nice and orderly, Grayson's room was cluttered with clothes, papers, and pizza boxes. His bed was unmade, his closet was wide open, and there was a pile of homework on his desk that I had no doubt he would never finish. To top it all off, Grayson had just gotten out of the shower, so I had 'dropped in' at the completely wrong time.

I had broken into the wrong bedroom.

And Grayson was naked.


Grayson's eyebrows narrowed, "Did you just climb in my window? How did you even get up here?" Well, that was a good question, wasn't it? But I couldn't respond. My brain sudden filled with images of Grayson naked - images I could've gone my whole life without - and my cheeks started to burn.

"Could-Could you put on clothes first?" I stuttered, averting my eyes to his wall. It was covered with posters of a woman laying on cars, scantily dressed. Cliché, perfect.

He snorted, "Why, do I make you nervous?" Amusement just dripped from his voice, and I could tell he was thoroughly enjoying this. It didn't even freak him out that I had just scaled his two-story house and climbed in his open window. "Did you finally decide to get with this?"

I gagged, "You wish. Now get dressed, Logan." I never called him by his last name. Even though I despised every cell of his being, I always called him by his first name. Maybe that's what caused him to listen to me and start putting on some pants. I heard the jingle of his belt as he slid it into place, and only then did my heart rate start to calm.

"You can look at me now, Immy," He said, still sounding quite delighted. After a moment's hesitation, I finally turned my head to look at the boy. Grayson was still shirtless, exposing his drool-worthy abs - which still caught my attention way too much for my liking - but I was able to focus more knowing that another part of his body was more securely covered. "Now can you tell me why in god's name you just fell through my window?"

That's it, I officially couldn't function. There was only so much mortification I could take in a day before I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. That limit had been reached, and I literally couldn't say a single word. It was like my brain had forgotten all the words I had learned in my sixteen years of life and replaced them with a ball of goop.

And so I stood there in my sweat pants, tank top, and messy hair while Grayson looked like a god, mouth hanging open like an idiot. I had just broken into his room thinking it was Wesley's, and I didn't have an explanation. I definitely couldn't tell him about the voice mail, that would ensure teasing for the rest of my life.

For the love of god, something out there must really hate me, because life was not going my way.

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