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Post by prospice1 on Jul 29, 2011 11:04:57 GMT -5
Henry wasn't exactly used to having someone else wake him up. Well, at least at present he wasn't. Waking up with someone yelling at him wasn't exactly pleasant either. He woke with a jolt, nearly falling off the edge of the bed in alarm, instantly aware of a blaring headache and the fact that he wasn't wearing any clothes. For a brief terrified moment his brain couldn't place exactly where he was, the scenery was so familiar and the situation so alien. Actually, he was having trouble processing a lot of things at the moment. A wave of nausea overcame him as he scrambled upward, against the bare wall where the headboard should have been. He was vaguely aware that it was a woman yelling at him, and for a crazy moment he thought it was his mother.
"What the hell?!" that was the single most coherent thought he had. The light streaming in from the single window was unnaturally bright even though it was interrupted by the barred shadows of the Venetian blinds. "What are you doing here?! How in the world.... ooooh." His puffy-eyed gaze had finally actually met hers, and he vaguely remembered last night. Vaguely. Which, he figured he didn't really want to know the details. He cast a frantic eye across the room, at the sheets, the floor, the open door. The disheveled mess of a living room through the door frame. He felt like he was going to puke. Not so much about the headache but about the thought of what had transgressed in his apartment. About how absolutely filthy he was, covered... his skin crawled.
For a few moments he didn't exactly understand what she was accusing him of. This was mostly because he was adjusting to the fact that a hot girl was standing there screaming at him and it was incredibly distracting... but still, ugh! In his apartment! then he realized what she was suggesting, and he wondered if she could actually be right.... he didn't think so. He must have been wasted out of his mind last night. She was sexy as hell though, how in the world had he managed that one? He wished he could remember. Suddenly, he was intensely uncomfortable, a wave of hot shame and general regret rising in his throat. "Well clearly this is not entirely my fault!" he shouted, with a fearful anger trembling in his voice, and looked as if he was about to continue but didn't, because he didn't even have words to describe the rush of questions and confusion that overcame him. |
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Post by simonedelautre on Jul 29, 2011 11:40:06 GMT -5
 stop there and let me correct it ,[/I][/size] i wanna live a life from a new perspective[/font][/center]
Simone glared at him furiously, her eyes narrowed into slits and her face growing redder with rage. How dare he try to point a finger at her. Nevermind the fact that she was pointing a finger at him. She was better than him. He was a nothing, a nobody. "I...I...You...You," she sputtered, so angry she couldn't come up with anything halfway intelligent to say. "What part of you thinks I would have wanted anything to do you with you? You must have gotten me drunk and then...brought me to this dump and had your way with me." She moved to put her hands on her hips, only too late realizing doing so meant dropping the blanket that attempted to cover her.
She then let her eyes travel from his face, downward. Only for a second before she snapped her eyes back up. What on earth was going on? Her brain hurt and she felt like she'd been hit by a train. She remembered the guy. Beatz. The place she'd gone for a couple drinks. A woozy cab ride to his apartment. Or his friend's apartment. Or...she wasn't sure who exactly owned the apartment or anything else. The scene they'd left behind the night before was enough to make anyone sick. She momentarily wondered if the place had been a wreck before they'd arrived, but since she couldn't remember the details, she waved the thought aside. She didn't really want to remember the details, because doing so would probably make her sick. Although, throwing up all over his bed would serve him right.
Finally, her rage faded a little and she gave him a bossy stare. "Well, are you going to give me my clothes? Or shall I just walk out on the street like this?" She knew that he probably knew she'd never do such a thing. She must look a sight. Her hands found their way to her hair, trying to smooth it, not bothering to pick up the blanket again. What was the use? He'd already seen her...all of her. And she'd seen him. She needed a mirror. And some makeup. And a shower. But none of that was probably going to happen until she left. She had a feeling he wasn't the type of guy to feel guilty and offer to make her breakfast or anything. Plus, he was really quite scary looking, and the idea of spending any longer with him than she had to was quite unappealing.
you come along because i love your face , [/size][/I][/size] and i'll admire your expensive taste[/font] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [/center]
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Post by prospice1 on Jul 29, 2011 14:35:17 GMT -5
Damn, she was hot. And practically naked. And also yelling at him. It was like some kind of dream come true. Actually, he wondered if it was a dream... It certainly felt like one. He squinted through the unbearable lightness of the sunlight. Ugggh. Almost unconsciously the fingers on his left hand traced the scar on his right, that shallow glass cut. "Well no offense honey, but I wasn't exactly sober either," he hissed, glaring at her and wishing she would just shut the hell up. She was hot... but it wasn't helping his headache any that she was yelling at him. "Besides, why the hell would you be at my apartment then? I mean this place is a freakin pigsty now." He glared as if he blamed this last entirely on her, clearly more concerned about the state of his apartment than anything else. He really had his priorities straight.
He looked down at the bed again, at the sheet that was just barely covering him, and shuddered. Then he couldn't take lying there any more with goosebumps on his arms and shoulders and feeling like he was going to puke, and he stood up and stormed past her without so much as a glance in her direction, throwing the shoddy closet doors open. Oh thank the powers that be that no damage had been done to his closet. It was neurotic as anything else as his, everything perfectly hung and arranged by type and then, of course, color. Pants and button down shirts were ironed to perfection and the latter were starched stiff. He dressed quickly without looking back at her. He hardly ever wore gloves in his apartment but he did now. "How should I know where your goddamn clothes are?" he shot over his shoulder at her brusquely, trying not to pay too much attention to the living room beyond...
He sat down on the floor with his back against the closet door because he did not want to sit down on the bed again. The wave of terror and panic had been replaced by a deep swell of something like shame. He pinched the bridge of his nose, in part to deny to himself the fact that there were tears pricking the corners of his eyes. Mostly this was due to the throbbing headache somewhere above his right eye. "I need a freakin drink," he mumbled, mostly to himself, looking up to see if she was gone yet. Of course not. He didn't know quite what she wanted. He could offer her a bowl of cheerios, he supposed. No milk, though. Or a cup of coffee. Actually, that sounded good but he didn't want her to stick around while the coffee machine ran. "Hey, do you want some... aspirin or something?" he offered at last, rather lamely. But he figured she had a hangover to rival his and there was really no reason to be a total jerk... Well, she had screwed up his place rather badly, but iy wasn't entirely her fault after all. |
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