KATHERINE
KNOCK
It was soft—barely there—but it drags me out of sleep. My lips part, a lazy yawn slipping out, and then I turn my face to the side...but freeze when something hard presses against my cheek.
The floor?
Why the hell am I on the floor?
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The door rattles, vibrating like it might pull away from its hinges.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Calm the fuck down.
My lazy eyes finally snap open and the blinding light pierce straight into them. The curtains is wide open, and the sun spilling through like punishment. I wince, squinting at the ceiling before slowly lifting my head.
My heart stumbles in my chest, confusion washing over me as my eyes take in my current environment.
What the...?
The coffee table is half-toppled, one leg lifted off the ground. Bottles. So many bloody bottles. Empty, some knocked over, a few shattered—the glasses sparkle like tiny knives in the sunlight. One is even tipped over completely, its last few drops soaking into the rug.
Pillows are strew across the floor like a war had happened here. My phone is beside my head—screen dead, cold.
And then it hit me.
The memory.
Him. Her. His voice saying the words, while her lipstick was still smeared on his collar. The exact second my world cracked open.
My eyes slam shut on it own accord for a second as the full weight of it come crashing back.
BANG. BANG.
The knocking again—harder, angrier. And right on cue, the migraine struck.
I'm not ready.
I'm not ready to face anyone.
But those goats at the door clearly don't care.
A sharp, stabbing pain pulse behind my eyes, spreading like fire through my skull cutting off my mind from my thoughts. I groan, reaching for my head with trembling fingers. My body ache. My clothes twisted. Limbs, so stiff and awkward, splay like a broken doll tossed aside.
Mascara was crusted to my cheeks. I can feel it. The dried tears, the way my lips feel raw from crying into the pillow last night. My hair—God, it feels like a tangled bird's nest. I can feel strands sticking to my face and to the sweat at the back of my neck.
I stink.
I try to sit up.
Bad idea.
The room spins violently. My stomach flips like hay tossed in a storm, twisting and churning with every breath I take. My body tremble. I sway, my feet losing it balance, and I fall back down with a soft grunt.
My hands fly to my head, cradling and trying to steady the room spinning around me.
Another knock. Louder.
Then a voice—sharp, unmistakable.
"Open the fucking door! It's me!"
Who else would pound a door like that?
I push myself up slowly, dragging my heavy legs across the cluttered floor, stepping over bottles, cushions, and shame. The table is still crooked, knocked out of place like everything else in my life.
I reach the door and rest my forehead against the cool steel, trying to catch my breath.
"Who is it?" I say, voice cracked, dry like gravel.
Just to be sure.
"It's me, you idiot!"
Adele. Of course.
I swallow the lump in my throat, wipe a hand across my mascara-streaked face, and unlock the door.
The hallway light hits me almost as hard as the pounding in my head. Standing there are the only two people who could get away with banging my door down at 8 a.m. after a night like last night.
I sigh softly, watching their eyes scan my entire being like I'm a crime scene.
Tessa is the first to snap from her shock. "What the fuck hit you?" She questions, her eyes wide in appall, her mouth hanging open and her fiery red hair bouncing as she shakes her head in denial.
"You look like a haunted corpse." Adele finally speaks, her eyes still scrutinizing me head to toe.
I don't bother responding. I can't. My tongue feels like sandpaper, and my skull is currently splitting open from the inside.
I sway.
My knees buckle.
I hit the floor in a graceless heap, curling into myself as the migraine surges like a wave crashing against a cliff.
They're beside me in an instant. Warm hands cradle my head, fingers gentle against my scalp.
"Get the pill, Adele." My ears picked Tessa's voice—soft, quivering vigorously with worry.
My sound system crashes in my head and all I can hear is my heartbeat—slow, desperately begging for relief.
Should I give in?
"Open your mouth..." Adele's voice peers in with some weird force and my mouth obeys her and parts open.
Immediately, the pill slips into my stomach. The world stills.
My eyes flutter open, staring at the ceiling—so white it hurts.
Why is everything so bright?
Then my eyelids grow heavy.
Darkness.