3
Bree
My head is killing me.
I can’t move without it feeling like somebody’s shoving an ice pick into my ear so hard it’s sticking out the other side. I almost wish somebody would do that because I wouldn’t have to go through this hell if I were dead.
My eyes won’t open. The bit of light coming through my eyelids tells me it’s morning, or at least daytime. I’m pretty sure if I saw sunlight my head would explode or fall off. Maybe fall off, then explode.
“Darla?” My mouth is so dry. “Kim? I need water and aspirin.” They don’t respond. I don’t even hear a grunt or a groan. Of all nights for them to both sleep in somebody else’s room.
I attempt to roll onto my side, hoping to claw my way to the bathroom, but something stops me. Something around my right ankle. Tangled up in the sheets? I try to kick them away, but it doesn’t work. Something’s holding me back.
“You’re awake.” A door closes somewhere nearby. “Good. Try not to throw up this time.”
Why is there a man in my room? I don’t know his voice. Did I bring somebody back with me last night? I try like hell to remember, but it’s all a blank. Not a blur. Totally blank, empty. Struggling with it only makes my head hurt worse, but I have to try. Who is he?
At least now I know why my mouth tastes like death.
I decide to be brave and open one eye a slit. What I see doesn’t make me feel better. I’m in a strange place and this looks nothing like the rooms at the resort, meaning I’m someplace else entirely. It’s nice, sure—clean, comfortable, and I can hear water lapping at the shore somewhere nearby—but it’s not my hotel room.
So I let somebody take me back to their room? Talk about risky. How drunk did I get last night?
“I threw up?” I lift my head a little, enough to see who the deep, rumbly voice is coming from.
And what I see makes me sit up before I can think twice. The room spins and my stomach lurches, but nothing comes up. Must be empty. The nausea isn’t what bothers me most now. What’s got me sweating is recognizing the man standing across from me, leaning up against a sink.
“I saw you last night,” I say.
He lifts an eyebrow. “You remember that much? Good for you. Maybe you threw most of it up.”
“Threw most of what up?”
He stares at me with dark, intense eyes. There’s an angle to his mouth that makes me think he finds me funny or something. There’s nothing funny about this.
“You remember me, but you don’t remember what happened with your drink?”
Turns out, thinking helps take my mind off how much my entire body feels like I got run over by a long train. Twice. My memory clears, and now I know there were margaritas involved.
“There was another guy, wasn’t there? He bought my drink.”
“He spiked your drink.”
My eyes widen and the room spins worse than it did before. “No, he didn’t.”
“Yeah, he did. You were ready to pass out when I found you on the beach. You ran away when somebody stopped to ask if you were okay.” He grimaces. “You weren’t in good shape. He practically had to drag you.”
“Holy shit.” I lie back down as I struggle to put this together. Sadly, I’m remembering things, and what he’s telling me rings a bell. Big time. “It’s so foggy, but I remember trying to run away and ending up on the beach. I felt sick.”
“No kidding.”
No matter how I try, everything else is dark after that. “I can’t remember anything else.” I pull the thin sheet up over me, even though I’m fully dressed. “What did you do to me?”
“Besides giving you water, mopping sweat off your forehead, and cleaning up my floor after you puked all over it?” He lifts one huge shoulder. It’s like somebody shoved a bowling ball under his shirt. “Nothing. I even slept on the sofa in my own house.”
“Am I supposed to thank you for doing the right thing?” I sit up slowly. I’m going to need to go to the bathroom for sure, and I could use mouthwash or something to get this awful taste out of my mouth. “Why didn’t you bring me to a hospital?”
I want to climb out of the bed, only I can’t swing my legs over the side. Not because my foot is caught in the sheets. “What the fuck?” I stare down at my ankle, where there’s a short rope tied to it and anchored to the bedframe.