Willow
All I can hear is what sounds like our cat drowning, I feel sick to my stomach, like a lead weight is holding me down making me unable to move and I can’t open my eyes. I can feel the sun on my face though, giving me a sense of inner peace, so I don’t really care if this is how I die.
I can hear birds chirping a pretty song somewhere too, and at least I have my furry companion somewhere close by my side as we both slip into the light.
Just as I am about to make my peace with dying so young, I hear the cat again. It’s closer this time, and I realise I’m not actually dying, it’s worse. I’m hungover.
Reality hits me and I realise my eyes are sticking together because I fell asleep with fake lashes on and that we don’t even have a freaking cat, it’s actually my best friend singing I can hear.
I know she’s been cooking breakfast and she’ll be making her way to my room with it because I can smell the delicious coffee mixed with the scent of bacon and eggs.
I prepare myself mentally to open my eyes for her bursting into my room like she always does the next morning to talk about how good the previous night was, only she doesn’t grace me with her presence and instead I hear her pass by my door continuing to sing as the smell of coffee and breakfast drifts away with her.
There’s no way she hasn’t made me breakfast. She’s the cook in our relationship, especially the morning after a night outclubbing because she is somehow blessed to never get hangovers no matter how much we drink.
I on the other hand am not so lucky, and I swear this morning I have a hangover bad enough for the both of us but I don’t remember drinking that much to warrant how I feel right now.
I should stay in bed considering how bad I feel, but as I start to pick off my fake lashes and unleash my eyes to the glaring morning sun, my stomach growls and I really need some of Alina’s cooking to help start my day.
The thought of her making breakfast brings me back to why the hell she isn’t in my room yet and has clearly went back to her own room. Maybe she didn’t want…
“Oh my god. NO.” I say with a scratchy throat as I force myself to roll over and bury my head into my pillow
“She’s brought that guy home.” I grumble. Stretching out in my queen size bed I decide I’ll lay here for a few minutes star fishing on my stomach under the soft thick covers before I decide to get up.
I roll onto my side and reach to my bedside cabinet to grab my phone and check the time.
“Shiiiiiittt how hungover am I?” It’s eleven thirty and no matter how hungover I am I never sleep in this late.
I grab the corner of the duvet and fling it back while groaning as I swing my legs over the side of the bed trying to steady my upper body from falling back down. I feel so dizzy as I take a deep breath and push up to stand on shaky legs.
“I’m not going out for at least a month.” I mumble to myself as I finally make my way to my dresser and run my hands over my face. Looking in the mirror in horror at how I look, I decide today is a day for lounging on the sofa with Alina. A day with our duvets, snacks and endless coffee while watching movies.
Alina has been my best friend my entire life. My parents and her mum and step-dad are best friends, so we have grown up like sisters for the last twenty two years, which is why last night, as always for my birthday, she made sure we celebrated like we always do, with lots of alcohol and dancing.
At least my hangover should be gone by tomorrow so we can go out in the city and do our favourite things together. Breakfast at Sunny Side which is our favourite little cafe, book shopping, a trip to Coney Island and then she said she would treat us to dinner at a new restaurant that’s just opened up in town.
I love Alina so much, she’s my other half and I would be lost without her. We have other friends in our group such as Gigi, who we both met later in school when we were sixteen, then Ella and Mia who we met when we were eighteen, but Alina and I are inseparable, hence why we live together and also work together.
Deciding I can’t look in the mirror at the mess I am any longer, I make my way to my bedroom door as quietly as I can so I don’t disturb Alina and the male friend she decided to come home with. Just as I place my hand on the door handle, I hear the guy walking past talking in… Russian? He sounds serious but I don’t speak Russian or any other languages to be able to tell properly. Come to think of it, neither does Alina, so who the hell is this guy talking to?
I open my door and creep into the hallway hoping he doesn’t hear or see me and when I do, I am met with a tall, tattooed, bulky looking guy who looks like he is seconds away from bursting out of his shirt.
Just as he’s about to round the corner into the open plan living room and kitchen area, he hears my footsteps and turns around. He’s still holding his phone to his ear and speaking in Russian to whoever is on the other end of the call.
He is definitely Alina’s type. The pretty fuck boy with tattoos, muscles that don’t end and who looks like he will ruinyour life and you would thank him afterwards. He looks me up and down and winks at me with a boyish grin on his face, then casually as ever as if he owns the place, he turns back around and makes his way to the front door.
I only know he’s left when I decide to shake myself out of my utter disbelief at his arrogance and walk to the bay window in the living room to spy where he has gone. I look out and see him waiting at the edge of the walkway just as a blacked out BMW pulls up.
Just out of curiosity, I wait and see for anything else to happen because I don’t remember this guy being the one Alina was dancing with last night, which is who I thought she brought home.
That’s when my brain stops working completely. If I thought this random Russian speaking fuck boy was pretty, I have no words for the behemoth who steps out from the back of the BMW.
Where fuck boy is just that, a boy, this guy is all man. He’s taller than fuck boy by a few inches.
He has to be at least six foot five maybe even six foot six. His suits must have to be tailor made to fit him too from all the muscle he has, and his face…
I usually describe men as hot, handsome, or in fuck boys case, pretty. But this man is something else and did I mention he is huge?
