Page 11 of Boyfriend From Hell
I debated whether or not to plant a small kiss on the top of her head. I mean it was right there, and I really wanted to, but I knew that would be off-putting evenifshe was still sound asleep. Besides, I had to get this plan into motion.
It’s not like she was going to drag herself to Hell.
I scooted myself out from behind her in probably the most unflattering way imaginable—hooking a leg over the back of the couch and hauling myself up and over the backrest. Safe to say, I was glad no one was around to witness that.
I could smell her on my clothes. The hoodie I’d worn over here now carried a light floral scent—probably her laundry detergent. Either way, I was enamored by the smell and wanted nothing more than to bury my face into it.
Calm down,stop being weird!I scolded myself.
This is no big deal, she seemed to like me well enough. Well, it didn’t just seem like it, I could read it plain as day in her mind. She was into me—whether she wanted to admit it or not. Or rather, whether she’d allow herself to admit it.I scoffed and shook my head; I really needed to stop with this business of talking to myself.
I stole a glance over my shoulder, half worried Deer would suddenly wake up, open her door, and catch me—key in lock—at my front door, realizing I’d lied. (But hey, I wouldn’t be much of a devil if I didn’t lie every now and then, would I?)
My apartment was shamefully bare, with nothing but a mattress on the floor. I didn’t care much for human furnishings; they just neededeverythingto be so damn softall the time. It drove me nuts.
Shadows began to swirl around my feet and spill from my palms, it was nearly midday—I needed it to be dark to make this work.
Was it a good plan? No. Not really. But it was as good a plan as any.
Whether or not I’d regret what I was about to do… Well, that was debatable.
The next time I woke up, it felt like I had been hit by a bus, killed, revived… and hit by a bus again.
Everything hurt.Soundshurt.
“I am never drinking again,” I groaned, rolling my stiff body over.
Why the hell was I on the couch? This was awful. My couch wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but it was definitely a sitting couch—not a sleeping couch.
I flung my hand out haphazardly and swiped it along the coffee table, praying my phone was somewhere on it and I wouldn’t have to move. Moving sounded terrible, I may honestly die if I had to move right now.
My fingers brushed the hard, beat-up plastic cover of my phone.Bingo!Thank God. I cracked one eye open—completely unprepared for the assault of sunlight—and peeked at the screen.
Aggressively bright white numbers punched me right in the cornea.
One twenty-three pm.
Fuck.
I swiped my thumb up, revealing several missed texts from Gracie––and even a few missed calls. My best friend and keeper.
I skim-read the most recent message, which had come in about thirty minutes ago.
“Uhm, are you alive? What happened to meeting up last night? Not cool, girl. If I don’t hear from you in the next hour I’m showing up and busting down your door!! Helloooo?!”
Begrudgingly, I sat up, full of regret from the night before, as memories from last night began to resurface.
I really had a stranger stay over, huh?
Insane of me.
Well, at least I didn’t get murdered—just the worst hangover of my life. Gracie was going to love this.
“Better just get this over with.” I sighed, swallowing back the urge to vomit, and palmed my phone. “Just rip it off like a bandage.”
The line rang for a few beats.
“D, are you okay?” Worry clung to Gracie’s words with heavy, exaggerated fists. “You didn’t answer my texts. Were you still asleep?”
