Metanoia

Chapter 1

     

        A white light filters in through the window. I rub my eyes and sit up. At this moment I realize that I am very much naked. My head is pounding like a colony of jackhammers is living and pounding away at the walls of my brain. I remember pulling up to the club with the girls taking a round of shots and running into the guys. After that everything is blank. The panic sets in even further when I look at my left wrist to see that just below the base of my palm the words 'I do' are tattooed.

In a world where every promise you make get tattooed somewhere on your body and turns into a scar when broken you learn very quickly that promises are to be kept to yourself. Following that train of thought my gaze trails to my hip where my first and not last anymore promise is scarred. I told myself that I would never make a promise again yet here I am with evidence that I just made the biggest promise a person can make. I quit reminiscing and take in my surroundings.

Two more facts fish slap me in the face. One, this room is not mine and two, the smell of waffles is wafting through the slightly cracked open door. Which one is more important at this point?

I wonder what kind of waffles are being cooked. And more importantly, are there pancakes as well?

At the foot of the bed a light green t-shirt is thrown haphazardly over the corner. I locate my undies by a wadded up blanket on the floor.

I quickly put them on and throw the shirt over my head.

While making my way into the hall I note that the shirt smells really nice. I hug my arms to my chest because my bra was nowhere in sight. When I finally find the kitchen I see a stranger that has no shirt on.

Ha I'll bet I stole his.

I can practically hear Dalilah yelling at me and telling me that this is not the time nor the place to be making jokes.

Well whether I like this dude or not, I like this shirt so it's mine now.

The stranger has a very nice back. Its muscular and nicely tanned. And I appreciate the biceps he has going on.

He has sweats on hanging onto his hips. He has quite a bit of height on me which isn't saying much because I'm about five nothing when I have a messy bun on top of my head.

After I have properly drooled and analyzed this handsome backed stranger, I give myself a once over.

Though unseen I'm wearing my favorite olive green lace underwear and the also green shirt that goes just past my booty and a few inches above my knees. A wave of nausea hits me and I run over to the sink under to the apartments window. While I barf my guts out I feel a soothing hand pull my hair back and braid it behind me. After a few minutes of my back being rubbed my stomach finally calms.

I catch my breath and run the tap to rinse my mouth out. When I turn around the weight of what happened hits me full force. Also the view of a glorious six-pack. Which is nice.

I look up and meet the cobalt blue eyes of my sworn enemy since high school. He didn't actually do anything wrong but he was just kind of a douche throughout the time that I tried to be friends with him.

"Please don't be you who I drunkenly married last night," I murmur and grab his arm and look at his wrist. "Wrong hand dammit." I drop said arm and grab the other one. During the whole ordeal he just watches me amused. When I see the words that match my wrist on his only one word comes to mind. That word is 'shit'. And since I have no filter that's what I say only pretty loud so it sounded more like 'oh shit!'

He almost looks offended before he says, "what's so bad about being married to this?" as he gestures to his very finely toned stomach. Again I have no filter so my retort is to gesture to his face and say, "because it's attached to that!" he chuckles.