Intrepid » n.h. au

Chapter 19

"Wow. Yeah, that's so thoughtful of you," He says, his voice clearly sarcastic. "And, you know, if you ever need a green card when you finish university, you can totally marry my sister."

"Really?"

"She's eleven and no," He groans, causing me to giggle at his tone at the end of his sentence. In my defense, it only takes four beers to get me tipsy, let's not start about what happens after two more.

"Okay," I say, getting comfortable in my position again. "Then I'll marry your mom."

"My dad might have something against that though."

I lift my head off the pillow for a second, and give him a cautious look as I start whispering, "He doesn't have to know!"

Seth snorts, which turns into a genuine laugh that's literally music to my ears; I honestly don't think I've met a guy his age that has such a nice laugh. "Okay buddy, whatever you say. Goodnight." I peer through my lids, to see him shaking his head at me as he stands in the doorway. "You Irish crackpot."

"Hey, I heard that!" I shout, surprisingly loud for a person that's half asleep, as Seth walks out. I can even hear him laughing as he walks through the hallway.

Americans.

*******

After turning in the sofa several times, I decide that there is no way I'll find a comfortable position; I might as well get up. Taking a deep breath, I throw my legs off the couch and pull myself in a sitting position, and start rubbing my eyes. The room is completely dark and the entire house is quieter than usual, it must be really late.

I check my phone that I'd left on the coffee table and, yeah, it's 2:40 in the morning. And I've just woken up after a nine and a half hour nap; this is definitely gonna fuck me up for the next week. Thank God it's Friday- well, Saturday now.

Sighing again, I reach out to turn on the floor lamp that's right next to the couch, and frown at my arm when I switch it on; the bandage around my knuckle is almost entirely red on the back of my hand, from blood, nothing like the faint stains from a few hours ago. I'd be worried, but the paramedics told me that I'd injured my hand so badly, they could see my bones for the first few minutes. And they told me I need stitches, but I refused them. Even though having stitches would look kinda cool. But the reason for them wouldn't be cool, so I still refuse them.

I start unwrapping the bandage, gulping multiple times as I look what's underneath the first layer of it. By the time that I get it off, I almost want to vomit; I don't think I've ever had a wound that needed so much time to heal.

Avoiding to look at it, I walk across the house to the kitchen, disposing the band-aids I had underneath the bandage, and wash my hands. It doesn't look so bad once I carefully dry my hands with paper towels, so I quickly jog to the living room to put on two new band-aids and a bandage. If I found the situation the least bit humorous, I'd call her and ask her to pay my hospital bills.

However, it's possible that she beat me to it; when I enter the living room, I see the screen of my phone lit, indicating I've either gotten a text or a missed call. Based on last week though, it's probably a message.

I flop down on the sofa and unlock my phone, sighing as I open the text I've gotten. The name of the sender makes me frown; I should probably change it, since I know her real name now. But then again, I'm probably gonna delete it in a matter of minutes so why bother.

From: Angel

you left your shirt at my place?