3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
R olling over, I groan as a ray of sun falls over my face, lighting up the back of my eyelids and sending a lance of pain through my temples. My head throbs like the music from the party last night is still beating through the speakers.
Tugging the blanket over my head to block the light, I try to go back to sleep. I must have overdone it last night. I can’t remember much of anything, let alone how I got home. But I can worry about that later. For now, I just want to go back to sleep.
The pain in my head builds, blocking me from dozing off and getting the rest I so desperately desire. My throat is dry as I swallow, my mouth feeling fuzzy. As much as I want to go back to sleep, I don’t think it’s going to happen—at least not until I rehydrate and take some painkillers.
Rolling onto my back, I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the pain that I know is coming when I sit up. Gods, I really overdid it. I should have known better than to chase vodka with wine.
Eyes still closed; I push myself to sitting. A sense of alarm rolls through me as I realise something doesn’t feel right. The mattress beneath me is softer than usual, the light hitting my face from the wrong side of the room. My pumpkin spice scent doesn’t saturate the room like it does at home. In fact, there’s not much of a scent here at all.
My heart pounds in my ears as my eyes fly open. Hissing at the shooting pain in my temples, I scan the room, taking stock of my surroundings. I’m definitely not at home. But there isn’t anyone in the bed with me either.
What happened last night?
It’s not like me to wake up in someone else’s bed. I always make my way home—It’s the only place I feel safe. There are two rules I follow to keep myself safe when giving in to my omegas needs. Don’t let them know where you live and don’t stay over.
The room is bare apart from the bed I’m sitting in and a nightstand, with no personal effects scattered around. Even the bed cover is a neutral cream colour, my scent on it faint, and no other, like maybe this is a spare bed.
My brow furrows, causing a lick of pain to hit me between the eyes. The nightstand has a small lamp on it, a bottle of water to the side of the lamp, a packet of painkillers, and… a note?
Licking my dry lips, I scramble to the night table, my stomach pitching with the motion. Ugh. I really don’t feel well. I reach the side of the bed, swinging my legs out from under the blanket and perching there while I grab the water, a little surprised to see I’m still wearing my pumpkin costume. Opening the bottle, I down half of it in one gulp, only stopping to pop out some of the Panadol before finishing the rest of the cool, refreshing liquid.
My thirst sated and my dry throat soothed, I pick up the note, unfolding it and holding it open before me. It’s a typed note, in a generic font titled ‘ Where am I?” .
What the actual fuck?