Chapter 8
MOLLY
The afternoon light slices through the thin hotel curtains, a stark contrast to the dim, hazy warmth of last night.
My head is pounding, my mouth is dry, and I’m starting to feel like having a nap was a mistake.
I feel worse now than I did this morning.
Seemingly, my body feels sorry for me because as well as reminding me of my hangover, as I shift beneath the sheets, the soreness in my limbs and the tenderness between my legs reminds me just how wild the night was.
I sit up too quickly, regretting it instantly when my head throbs in protest. The room is still, eerily quiet compared to the electric energy that had pulsed through Joshua’s just hours ago.
I yawn and debate going back to sleep, but I have work in a few hours, and I need to shower and get myself pulled together first.
I exhale slowly and swing my legs over the side of the bed, pressing my feet to the cool floor.
My clothes are hung over my chair, not like last night when they were scattered all over the floor of a room so similar to mine that I could be there again now.
My stomach rolls pleasantly as I remember last night, but I ignore it, pulling on my robe and heading towards the bathroom.
I walk over to the sink and look into the mirror above it.
The reflection staring back at me is a mess.
My hair is all wild and tangled, and my makeup is just about gone except for a streak of black smudged down one cheek.
I shake my head at how bad I look and then I reach for my toothbrush.
I add toothpaste and brush my teeth and then I remove the last traces of my makeup and run a brush through my hair.
I feel better just for doing that, and I think after the shower, I’ll feel even better.
I slip my robe off and as it runs over my skin on the way to the ground, I feel a stinging pain in my lower back just over my left hip.
I think nothing of it – it’s just one more pain to add to my list - and I head towards the shower, but then a vague, blurry memory of last night hits me and I practically run into the bedroom to stand before the full-length mirror attached to the closet door.
I didn’t imagine it. There, on my skin where it stung, is a small black star.
I debate licking my thumb and trying to rub it off, but there’s no point.
Now that I’ve seen the star, I remember getting it and the memory is no longer vague.
This is real. It actually happened. And it wasn’t just me who got a tattoo either. Joshua and I got matching star tattoos.
I trace the ink lightly with my fingertips. I could cover it with a different design. Or I could have it removed. It would make it easier to pretend like last night never happened.
But I won’t. If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t want to forget about last night, because for once, I let go.
For once, I wasn’t just the responsible girl working long shifts in Vegas, watching other people live recklessly while I played it safe.
Last night, I was part of the chaos and the fun – Joshua even described me as trouble.
And even if being that free was fleeting, even if I snuck away before the morning could bring any awkward goodbyes, I have the proof that I can let go and just go with the flow – and no one can doubt me because that proof is literally etched into my skin.
A small smile tugs at my lips. Because for one night, I was the person I always wanted to be, the person who says yes instead of no, the person who has fun and worries about the consequences later. And I’ll always have the ink to remind me that sometimes, it’s okay to be a little wild.