FIONA
The first thingI notice is the smell.
Clean linen. Faint cologne.
I’m not in my bed. Everything feels off.
My eyes crack open against the splitting pain behind them, and the second thing I register is the sunlight, blinding me until I want to hide behind sleep again.
But fragments start surfacing.
His voice whispering beside me. Arms wrapped tight around my body. The steady weight of him pressed against me, like he wasn’t going to let go.
I remember the parking lot. The way he pulled me into his chest. The way I let him. And…I think he held me last night.
No. That can’t be right. He wouldn’t.
Would he?
Sitting up, I look around the room. The space feels just like him. Dark wood with modern touches. Expensive. Masculine.
My head pounds harder. Did he really find me? Did I really get that drunk and almost get myself into real shit?
I pinch the bridge of my nose and push the blanket off, and that’s when I freeze.
My clothes are gone. In their place is an oversized white T-shirt I don’t recognize. I stare at it, nausea spiking.
I’m wearing his shirt.
Panic crawls up my spine. I bolt upright, and the world tilts, the sudden motion sending a wave of dizziness crashing through me. My stomach churns, and I press a shaking hand to my forehead, trying not to throw up.
When did he take my clothes off?
Did I let him? Did I even know? Would he really have done that to me while I was in such a state? That would be a new low, even for him.
My mind claws for answers, but I don’t remember anything more.
I stagger for the edge of the bed and spot my phone on the nightstand. My fingers shake as I grab it and hit the screen.
Eight missed calls. Twelve texts.
Dana
Fiona? Please tell me you’re okay.
I swear to God, if you don’t text me back, I’m calling the cops.
I’m going to lose my damn mind. Are you DEAD?
That one makes me laugh.
Fiona
I’m okay. I’m safe. I’m so sorry I didn’t respond sooner. I think I was drugged.
She replies instantly.
Dana
