Chapter 3.

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Scarlett's POV

I could feel sweat dripping down my face and onto the pillow my head was rested upon. Whatever was in my stomach didn't agree with my body. My hands felt shaky and my head was throbbing to the extent I couldn't even bare to bring my eyes open. I took several deep breaths, trying to recall the events of last night but failed miserably. This didn't feel like a hangover or anything close, this felt worse. The harder I squeezed my eyes shut the more intense the pain got. There weren't a lot of options to choose from right now; stay in bed and suffer or get out of bed and suffer. I could hear someone talking in another room, they were behind a closed door but their voice ripped through my ear drums and caused me to flinch. I took an exasperated breath before swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I still didn't open my eyes but with the amount of dizziness I felt I wasn't sure I wanted to. My hand self-consciously rubbed my forehead but the pain didn't subside. Maybe this was a hangover and I had drunk a ridiculous amount. My toes patted the floor before I gained enough strength to place all my weight on my feet. I swayed a bit as I stood up but I managed to balance. I peeled my eyes open, the bright sunlight shining through the blinds didn't cause any more obvious pain, surprisingly. I blinked a couple times but felt nothing new. I breathed out deeply one last time before dragging my feet slowly towards the door. The bedroom door felt like it was light years away, by the time I reached it I was utterly exhausted. I grabbed hold of the door handle, using it to help me steady myself but it didn't last long. Before I even had a chance to open the door my face was in contact with the wood and then suddenly the cold, tiled floor.

"Fuck." I mumbled as I rubbed the patch on my head where it hit the ground.

"Shit, Scarlett, are you okay?" Louis' panicked voice rang through my ears.

"I will be soon, it's a little early right now."

"It's three in the afternoon."

"W-what?" I stuttered as my eyes found his. He rolled his eyes back at me before helping my frail body in a vertical position again.

"You've been sleeping all day."

"Oh. How much did I drink last night?"

"You only drank water." He stated, he sounded annoyed and not his happy, chirpy self which was slightly worrying.

"I don't understand."

"Yeah, well neither do I." He snarled before storming out.

"Where are you going?" I called back to him, cringing at the volume of my voice.

"I have a meeting with the boys and management." He spoke appearing back in the room, slipping his shoes on and gripping his phone tightly in one hand.

"Oh right."

"And I'm running almost an hour late." He muttered still in a pissed off tone.

"Why?" I asked, but I really wish I hadn't.

"Because I was worried sick about you, I couldn't leave you. You didn't drink last night and you wouldn't even wake up this morning. What the heck am I supposed to think?!" He retorted practically shouting.

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I don't know what's going on either." I spoke barely above a whisper.

"I made you breakfast, it's probably cold now but it's better than nothing."



"Love you." I replied as I watched him walk out of the bedroom.

"That's nice." He mumbled before he was gone. I heard the front door slam shut and groaned loudly.

"That's nice?!" I repeated. "That's nice?!" What the heck is that supposed to mean? Had I done something really bad last night which has upset him? Right now time travel would be useful, I needed to know what happened.

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