The Years That Followed

Chapter Seven: Breakfast is the Most Important Meal of the Day

The cool light was still painful even behind my closed eyelids. Ugh, the groaning that ached behind my eye-sockets was unbearable.

Ugh.

The angsty event of last night flashed through my mind like an irritating camera that blinded you with every snap.

Good going Char- you managed to upset one of the most easy-going guys on the planet. That really takes some talent.

It was one of those moments that I just knew would come back and haunt me before I go to sleep. Replaying every word that I said and Noah's every facial expression, cringing as I did so.

In an attempt to distract myself I opened my eyes and took note of the room I somehow ended up in. The sound of rain against my window brought nostalgia to me as I observed the posters on the wall and photos on my boards. I was home. My childhood home.

Lazily I got out of my bed- and stumbled around the room in last night's clothes collecting my belongings from various pieces of furniture. Heels didn't seem like a wise choice considering how clumsy I was currently, so bare-foot I padded around, trying to find a bathroom.

How I got here- I had no clue. May it remain a mystery. I'm just thankful that I wasn't waking up in a field surrounded by cow pats.

Not that I was speaking from experience.

With the newfound knowledge of where to go, I could navigate my hungover self with my eyes closed.

Ugh.

The reflection in the mirror was not what I wanted to see. Tangled blonde hair, smeared mascara and a puffy face was not what I needed this morning. I looked like a mess.

Nothing new there then.

My insides were twisted and I felt grimey all over my body and I have no idea if that's a repercussion from the alcohol or my regretful conscience.

As the water fell down and the mirrors began to steam up, more and more of last night began to replay- slower this time as if I was reliving it again. I meant what I said, my stance on that hadn't changed. But it felt like I was letting Noah down. But didn't he see what I saw? Couldn't he understand why I feel like I do?

I wish that I hadn't had to tell Noah. That I didn't have to see his crest-fallen face.

The hot shower was now suffocating. I needed to get out and go home.

As if I had a pressing deadline in London, I hastily put myself back together, gathered my things and ran downstairs.

It was comical really. This sort of morning was not what I was used to. I left these days of being a mess behind me.

The pounding in my head only got bigger as I moved around but I ignored it. Right now I just wanted to ignore the inner turmoil inside. I can think about it later.

The bemused look on my parent's faces as I came thundering down the stairs, chugging water and swallowing paracetamol. The last time they saw me like this was when I was still living at home in between uni terms. They gave me a sympathetic look before making their way on their daily morning walk like the early birds they were.

I paused mid-swallow. It probably wasn't safe to drive like this. My sudden urge to go back to the city had to be put on pause as I mentally scanned through my options;

-Emma and Theo were on their way to their honeymoon

-Clark was on his way to work right now despite it being a weekend so couldn't pick me up