I roll over, nestling my head to the side, and suddenly feel bile rising in my throat. I get up as quickly as I can to stop the vomit from coming up. I crack my eyes open and slam them shut again as a hundred lasers stab behind them. I hiss and take my head in my hands, sitting up more comfortably, but slowly.
I didn’t drink that much, did I? What the hell?
The sharp pain calms as I sit motionless on the bed. I slowly open my eyes, looking down so the light doesn’t hit me with such force.
Wait, this isn’t my bed. Did I booty call someone last night?
Please not the police officer again. He was sweet but horrible in bed.
I’m starting to get a moral hangover.
What did I do this time?
I open my eyes, not completely, but enough that a sudden panic hits me when I see I’m in a huge bedroom that isn’t mine or anyone else’s I know.
French windows cover one wall from floor to ceiling. The rest of the walls are dark grey, hung with abstract paintings. Massive wooden furniture and an oriental-looking rug fill the room. This whole place feels like an old-money manor and smells like expensive materials, cardamom, and wood.
Where the hell am I?
I slowly get up from the bed, now realizing how enormous the bed is, covered in black silk sheets. As I step onto the floor, my feet hurt like they haven’t touched the ground in a week.
How long was I asleep? Everything feels so sore.
The huge windows grab my attention and I’m stunned for a second. Beautiful trees covered in orange, red, and a hint of green, their leaves flowing in the light autumn breeze and soft rain. But there’s nothing except trees and empty land covered in the colors of fall.
No buildings. No familiar landmarks. Just endless trees. The horizon gives me no hint of where I am. I slowly move around the room, my head hammering and screaming.
Huge wooden doors lead to an even bigger space, probably a living room, judging by the dark green sofa in the middle and a wall-length wooden library covering one whole wall.
The scent of leather fills the room.
God, this feels like some gothic den. I woke up in Dracula’s manor.
I’m not sure if it’s the fear, the hangover, or if I’m just cold, but my body is shivering so much I need to hug myself and finally realize what I’m wearing.
What in the hell?
This isn’t mine. I didn’t put this on. It’s a huge T-shirt and some shorts, and it’s not mine.
Fuck.
I check in with my body, trying to figure out if I’m sore down there, but nothing hurts. I check my inner thighs—nothing. No bruises on my hands either.
A small relief calms my nerves for a millisecond. But then I head toward the huge doors that probably lead out of this gothic suite and start banging on them when I surprisingly can’t open them, yelling like a lunatic to God knows who—to let me the fuck out.
I’ve always been more of a do-first-think-later kind of person, but when the doors open with a huge figure standing in the doorway, I internally slap myself.
I could think this through. I didn’t take any weapon or anything. I didn’t check the whole suite. My head just hurts so much I can’t think straight, so I just act.
“Hi, Troubles,” the man standing in front of me says with a happy tone and gives me a little side smile.
Huh?
He steps through the door, closes the distance between us, and when I don’t move, he stares at me, confused.
“Are you gonna move or do you want a hug?” He lifts his eyebrows and smiles, this time almost grinning.
I find myself losing the anger for a millisecond because God—he’s really beautiful.
