Page 57 of Am I the Only One

My eyes fall shut as the girls continue to squeal and laugh. My hands have finally lost all feeling, causing me to grin. At least, I think I’m grinning. It isn’t until Olivia and one of her friends pull me to my feet that I realize my legs are numb too.

With the three of us clinging together, we pass by Hot Guy on the way out to the parking lot. He shoves something into the pocket of my pants and follows it up with a hard slap to my ass.

Somehow, I’m able to feel its sting.

“Was he hot or am I just drunk?” I ask to anyone who cares.

“No, girl. He’s definitely hot,” one of them answers. “Who is he?”

“I dunno.”

Frigid air nips my skin when we make it outside. I’m doing the best I can to carry my weight as they help me to Olivia’s car, but I’m on my way to blacking out when a parking curb takes me down. Tripping, I fall onto my knees as my shins slam hard against the block.

“Fucking hell!” I seethe in pain.

“Are you okay?”

The two of them pull me back up to my unstable feet, and thank God her car is only a few more steps away. They help me into the passenger seat, and somehow, I manage to fasten the seatbelt. Fumbling, I find the button to recline back, and before I know it, the car is moving and I’m fading.

A sensation of movement dizzies me before my eyes open. The weight of boulders on me makes it difficult to move, but I eventually get my eyelids to flutter open. Blades of sunlight stab my vision, and I slam my eyes closed again. My muscles ache when I roll onto my belly, and this time, I don’t rush as I slowly open my eyes, taking in the morning light in fractions.

“Kill me now,” I mumble into my pillow.

The room spins and so does my head. I can’t recall the last time I felt this hungover. I vaguely remember dancing with some guy for most of the night while I also consumed far too much alcohol. The details are static, and I can’t remember how I even got home last night or who put me in my bed.

Lifting the covers, I see I’m still in the same clothes, and I reek of cigarette smoke while the aftertaste of vodka lingers in my mouth. I grow nauseated, and when my stomach gurgles, I bolt to the bathroom, expelling god knows what into the toilet. Gripping the seat, another expulsion bubbles in my gut before I hurl again. Tears fall as I rest my cheek against the cold porcelain and attempt to take in a deep breath.

I curse myself for getting as drunk as I did because this hangover is already something fierce. My hand is dead weight when I reach up to flush all that remains from last night. Closing the lid, I pull myself up and sit with my head hanging between my knees to ward off my lightheadedness. Once my vision clears, I drag myself over to the shower, turn on the water, and strip out of my clothes.

About thirty minutes later, I’m dressed in fresh pajamas with the hint of toothpaste still on my tongue. As much as I want to go back to bed, I want coffee even more.

While I’m in the kitchen waiting for my coffee to finish brewing, I riffle through the fridge to find a decent flavor of creamer. It’s as I’m closing the door that I hear Luca coming out of his room. When I turn to ask him if he wants coffee too, I’m taken aback when I see Olivia instead, looking sloppy with a terrible case of bedhead.

She stops in her step when she catches eyes with me, and neither of us speak as we stare at each other.

I feel like I’m going to be sick again.

“Hey,” she says meekly as she makes her way over to the island bar top where her purse sits.

There’s no need to ask why she’s here, and no, it doesn’t irk the shit out of me in the same way it usually does when a random girl stumbles out of his room. This is a different level of annoyance. It’s scathing.

As much crap as Luca talks about this girl, why the hell would he even go there with her ... again?

I don’t say a word, and next thing I know, Luca is walking out of his room in nothing but his boxer briefs. His eyes lock on to mine, causing an eruption from somewhere deep inside me.

I’m angry when I have no reason to be, so the emotion is confusing.

“I’ll call you later?” Olivia asks, and all I can give her is a feeble, “Whatever.”

I dump the creamer into my coffee, the front door closes, and I take my mug back to my room.

“Emma—”

The door slams behind me, cutting him off. Setting my coffee on the nightstand, I crawl back into bed as my emotions stir from beneath the surface.

I feel like crying, and I’m not entirely sure why. A big part of me wants to lie to myself and say it’s because of everything that I’ve been dealing with lately, but, damn it, if there isn’t a pit of jealousy in my gut.

There’s a light tap on my door, and before I can even speak, he opens it and steps inside.

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