The second I open my eyes I am filled with regret. I regret that I went out drinking with Millsy and Woody again. I regret that I stayed out until the early hours. I regret all the things I know I’d regret if I could remember them because I drank too much. Mostly, I just regret opening my eyes because the early morning sunlight is really doing a number on them.
I squeeze them tightly shut, wiggling and stretching my body out in an attempt to try and get more comfortable. My neck hurts, I’m not sure if it’s an extension of my hangover or this rock-solid memory foam pillow that I’m not used to – that’s when it hits me: I’m not in my own bed.
I open my eyes, slowly this time, giving them a fighting chance of adjusting to the harsh light of day. Nope, that is not my ceiling.
Running my hands down my body, I realise that I’m in my underwear. Oh God, what did I do? And who did I do it with? I’d be happy my dry spell was over, but I’m too freaked out.
The second I sit up, I realise where I am – I’m in Nick’s room. More importantly, in Nick’s bed.
‘Morning, kid,’ he says cheerily.
I snap my head to the left and see him sitting in his armchair, fully dressed, his fingers pressed together. He taps them together impatiently.
‘Morning,’ I reply awkwardly.
‘Good night was it?’ he asks.
‘You tell me,’ I joke – but it’s neither the time nor the place.
I rub my eyes, causing my fingertips to go black with eye make-up. As I glance around the room, I notice the dress I was wearing last night is over the top of the tall lamp that stands in the corner of Nick’s room. Oh God, no, please no…I’m getting flashbacks. The dress on the lamp is the only trigger I need for it all to come back. I came into Nick’s room on purpose, fully intent on seducing him. I remember whipping off my dress, swinging it around in the air before tossing it and climbing into bed with Nick.
‘Nick, I can explain,’ I start.
‘You can explain why you came in drunk, got in the wrong bed and then, when I tried to tell you that you were in the wrong bed, you started blubbing about what a mess your life is?’ he asks. ‘Well, by all means, go ahead.’
‘My life isn’t a mess,’ I snap defensively.
‘You’re in the wrong bed, in your underwear, with eyeliner literally everywhere but your eyes – that doesn’t sound like a mess to you?’
‘Well, when you put it like that,’ I laugh. I’m just so relieved that he hasn’t realised I intended to get in his bed, even if I was drunk and it was misjudged.
‘You’re lucky Heather wasn’t in there with me.’
Finally, something we can agree on.
‘Look, I’m sorry. I had too much to drink, it won’t happen again.’
‘You’re damn right,’ he replies. ‘I’m getting a lock for my door.’
I begin climbing out of bed before I realise something. Crap, I’ve still got my control tights on. These things squish my chubby bits into weird places – hidden perfectly underneath my clothes, but without a cover, I look like a string of sausages. And while I know that Nick has seen me in these a thousand times before – heck, I usually have him pull me into them – I suddenly feel self-conscious about him seeing me like this. I don’t want him to see me looking gross, my smoke and mirrors tights showing their hand, giving away the illusion of my relative slimness.
‘Can you give me a bit of privacy, please?’ I ask, not really knowing how else to phrase it.
‘Can I give you some privacy?’ Nick laughs. ‘Sure. I’m on my way out anyway. Thank you for making things even more awkward,’ he calls back sarcastically as he heads out.
Oh my God, what the hell is wrong with me? Why am I so bad at this stuff? It’s like everything I do just makes things even worse. And he’s right about one thing, it’s going to be really hard to look him in the eye after this.