Rileys POV
I can faintly hear a ticking of a clock, other than that the world was silent. My head is foggy as I slowly pull myself out of my slumber, my eyes are still closed however the bright light beyond them still hurts my eyes. I squeeze them shut even tighter, trying to block the beams but to no avail.
I twist my head, attempting to burry my face in the pillow. I choke down a groan as a sharp pain slices through my head. I bring the covers up to shadow my face as I open my eyes. I blink several times, letting my sight adjust to the muffled rays of sunlight still seeping through the fabric.
I'm finally able to comfortably look around my newly made tent, after a few blank moments my brows furrow together in confusion. The sheets and comforter I'm sandwiched between are a navy blue color, a far cry from my usual maroon and grey sheets on my bed.
I rip the blanket off of me and sit up, ignoring the protests from my head and body. Slowly I swing my legs to the floor and shuffle towards the window, blocking the blaze with my hands. I fumble with the cords for several minutes, me muttering curse words under my breath when they don't cooperate. Finally I get them straightened out and jerk the cord closing the blinds, leaving the room in a soft light.
I turn towards the room and stand there, silence still fills the room except for the same annoying ticking clock. I've never liked the sound of the hands moving, it's a grim noise that evokes reminders of our lives passing before us.
This looks like my bedroom, only different. In my room the bed is nestled on the wall adjacent to the living room, sticking out into the floor and perpendicular to the doorway. It sits directly in front of the window. Here, however, the bed is to the right of the door where my dresser would normally sit, and the window is on my right side. The far wall is home to the dresser and two large dark oak bookshelves; stocked full of books, framed papers, and that damn clock.
I just stand there disoriented, until my eyes wander to the closed door. Without thinking, I walk over and open it staring out into the hallway. The cream colored walls are exactly like mine, the trim and doors are like mine, but I know I'm not home. Realization dawns on me as I glance at a paiting hung up on the wall beside me, this was Austins apartment. I saw that painting when I helped put Mae to bed after the club weeks ago.
I was standing there, admiring the lines and colors when Austin walked through the hall entrance. He gave me a small smile before coming and standing beside me, both of us looking at the art on the wall. I tried to keep from glancing at him, black gym shorts and no shirt, it was hard.
"This is a painting from a small-time artist I once knew who created it just for me. It's based off the 'Rayleigh-Taylor instability' technique which was first discovered by the artist David Siqueiros, then later recreated and studied by art historians at the University of Mexico."
I look up at his while he's talking, his voice full of passion like when he was talking about cars. The smile on his face while his lips move was beautiful.
"The whole concept of this technique is physics. You pour multiple different colors of paint onto a flat, clear surface right on top of each other. When a denser fluid rests atop a less dense one, the top fluid wants to move downward, causing the two fluids to mix. Different colors of paint have different densities because of the varying compounds used to make pigments, so you have to play around with it to know what colors mix. In physics, this battle between densities is called a Rayleigh-Taylor instability, and it comes up in a variety of other areas outside of art. In astrophysics, for example, exploding stars expel gases of varying densities, leading to the formation of Rayleigh-Taylor "fingers" or the lines you see here. The artist was going for a 'crab nebula' look."
He smiles and crosses his arms, staring lovingly at the painting before turning to look at me.
"How are you feeling by the way?" He questions, voicing his concerns. I shrug and rub the back of my neck with my hands.
"Confused, hungry, tired, sore." I run a hand over my stomach as it rumbles, the fabric of my shirt feels strange and I glance down. I'm wearing an unfamiliar black t-shirt with bright blue boxers with little white eagles on them. My hand freezes as I try to remember the events of last night.
My mind immediately turns to the worst scenario, with me waking up in what I'm assuming is Austins room and wearing his clothes. My hand flies up to cover my mouth and I can feel my cheeks getting red, I peak a side glance at Austin who is standing there with a smirk on his face.
"Did...did we do anything last night?" I stumble over my words in humiliation, shaking my head at the wall.
He lets out a soft chuckle before responding. "No, we did not. Someone slipped something into the punch at the party. Only a few people were affected, you being one of them, before it was dumped out. Your friends laid you on a cot in the greenhouse and answered your phone when I had called you. I came and picked you all up and you stayed the night here due to you losing your key." He looks down at me disapprovingly. "Taylor and Aimee undressed you, to the best of their inebriated abilities."
"Are they still here?" I ask, stepping into the living room and looking around.
"No, it's noon. This morning Taylor picked your apartment lock, disturbingly fast, and changed clothes. Then they both took Aimee's car to get some lunch and run by her house for her to change. I'm not sure where they are now."
Austin walks over to his brown leather couch and sits down, waving me over. I walk in front of him to sit on the cushion to his left when his arm snakes around my waist, pulling me into a heap in his lap.
I laughed and leaned my shoulder into his chest as his arms wrap around me, it was a strange feeling being here in his apartment wrapped up in him. I think I like it.
"Your phone is dead, and I'm sure you don't remember why I was calling you last night." He says quietly, searching my face for any emotions. When I shake my head he clears his throat and fishes in his pocket, bringing out his phone. After tapping a few times he finds the screen he's searching for and places it in my hand.
My eyes scan over the texts I had sent to him last night, apparently in my drunken state I had informed him that I made up my mind and I needed him.
Jesus Christ...
I stare at the phone until the screen goes black and hand it back to him. He gingerly takes it from me and places it on the leather arm behind me.
"From your silence I take it you're disappointed with the messages." He says softly, I turn my head to look at him and he's staring at me with a frown on his face.
"I am disappointed, yes. I'm disappointed that I didn't wait to tell you in person, I have such a big mouth when I drink." A small smile slowly spreads across my face and I glance at him.
He gives me a lopsided grin and gives me a squeeze. I swing my right leg up and across him, straddling his lap and I cross my arms over his chest leaving my face a few inches from him.
"So are you my girl now?" He whispers and smiles wide flashing his white teeth, I savor his grin and the dimples that show on his cheeks underneath his stubble.
"Yeah, I'm your girl."