Page 28 of Catch You

How much did we fucking drink last night?

Thoughts of the woman I got to know very well fill my mind, and I reach out to find her. What better way to push away this hangover than to slide inside her once again? Only, when I move my hand to the other side of the bed, I’m met with cold sheets.

Dragging my eyes open, I look over to confirm what I already know.

She’s gone.

Motherfucker.

I roll onto my back and blow out a breath. So, this is how it feels to be the one who’s humped and dumped.

Something pulls at my chest. I tell myself that it’s just disappointment that I didn’t get to start my day inside her, but the reality is that I’m mostly just disappointed she’s not here.

I guess it’s karma for all the women I’ve left barely minutes after getting what I came for. I can’t say it doesn’t sting, though.

With a sigh, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and move to stand—only my foot doesn’t hit the carpet first; it lands on the bottle of whisky. Reaching down, I lift it to find there’s not a drop left. How the hell did she make it out of here without me noticing when we consumed the entire bottle between us? She must have been trashed. I know I was.

Placing it on the side, I notice all the empty wrappers and used condoms littering the floor.

A smile pulls at one corner of my mouth. She and all her belongings may be gone, but there’s plenty to remind me that she was here, that last night wasn’t just a very vivid dream.

I make the most of the shower that is significantly better than the one in my flat. It could be a while before I experience another this good, seeing as every penny I’m earning right now is going back home to my mum and sisters, and to pay for our night of passion. They need it more than I do. I tidy up the mess we made, and with one last look at the room where it all happened, I make my way down to reception to check out, leaving with only memories and a lingering hangover.

I have my credit card ready, hoping like hell it won’t decline, but when I get to the front of the queue, I discover the room and our late-night delivery have already been paid for.

Feeling a little used and abused by the red-headed goddess, I head out into the late morning sun and set about finding myself some food.

9

HARLOW

I sit surrounded by white fluffy bubbles as the hot water burns my skin and tears track down my cheeks, but I don’t cry. I can’t. I’m numb.

My head throbs, reminding me of the colossal mistake I made last night and the whisky that fueled it. I never should have agreed to go to that hotel with him. Being inside that small room brought out a side of me that I’d rather never meet again. The weak girl who’d do anything for a distraction.

It worked. I forgot about my daily stresses, about what I’m about to face with my aunt, and my past that haunts every second of my life. All of it was gone with one skilled kiss and caress of his fingers. But that’s not how it should be. That’s how I used to deal with things. I’m stronger, or at least I hoped I was.

Everyone keeps telling me that I’m a different person now. But one thing goes wrong in my life, and I fall back into old habits. Habits that took too long to break and a lifetime to regret.

I’m done with regrets. I’ve got a truckload that weigh me down on a daily basis. I do not need any more. Especially any that include a smooth-talking man with an addictive British accent.

Everything was fine until he rolled over and fell asleep, and all that was left was the girl I hated.

So, I did what I thought was for the best. I somehow got myself dressed and stumbled from the room. I liked to think it was somewhat elegant, but the reality was that I’d drank half a bottle of Macallan, so I probably bounced off each wall as I made my way toward the door.

I know what I was to him. A one-night stand. If he was interested in anything else, he wouldn’t have taken me straight to a hotel room. He’d have brought me home, given me a kiss to remember him by, and asked me out on a date. But he didn’t. He got me to the closest bed and allowed me to dive headfirst into the perfect distraction: alcohol and sex.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

“Harlow?” Brooke’s voice calls through the house seconds after the front door slams shut.

I wasn’t surprised to find it empty when the taxi dropped me off sometime before dawn. Brooke makes a hobby out of spending her weekends in anyone’s bed but her own.

Her footsteps thunder up the stairs as she calls out again, and I know my solitude is coming to an end.

I rush to wipe the tears from my cheeks, expecting her to come crashing in at any moment. I don’t think for a second that it’ll cover up the fact that I’ve been crying. I’m sure my red-rimmed eyes will tell her everything in a flash.

She gets closer before the door handle twists and she pokes her head inside.

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