𝘚𝘛𝘈𝘙𝘎𝘐𝘙𝘓, 𝙇𝙊𝙍𝙀𝙉𝙕𝙊 𝘽𝙀𝙍𝙆𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙍𝙀

get free

I never really noticed
that I had to decide to play
someones game, or live my own life.

CLEODORA SINCLAIR

I awaken with a start, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains. The room is colder than I remember, and a shiver runs down my spine as I reach for the warmth of the covers. But the realization hits me before I could do anything else.

Was that real?

Did I sleep with-

No. It can't be.

I sit up, wrapping my arms around my bare body in a futile attempt to ward off the chill. The room feels cavernous. The silence deafening.

With a sigh, I reluctantly swing my legs over the edge of the bed, my feet meeting the cold hardwood floor.

As I attempt to stand, my legs momentarily betray me, causing me to wobble and then collapse to my knees. A sharp intake of breath escapes my lips as the pain radiates through my muscles. I brace myself on the bedside table, attempting to regain my composure, the ache being my confirmation that I did in fact sleep with Berkshire.

I groan at the thought. My head pounding from all the alcohol intake yesterday.

I look to the empty beds of Onyx and Lucille.

Onyx probably with Blaise and Lucille with...someone.

I make a mental note to piece together the events of last night. But first, I needed water, pain relievers, and a moment to collect my thoughts. The consequences of a Slytherin party were never a pleasant wake-up call. Less so when you find our you slept with the person you h̶a̶t̶e̶ dislike most.

I wasn't really expecting him to stay with me. I couldn't help but wonder if he was experiencing the same mixture of surprise and confusion as I was.

But for now, I had to focus on the throbbing headache and the mess that was my appearance.

I slowly push myself up from the bed, wincing as my  legs go against the movement. Every muscle feels tight and reluctant. With an effort, I manage to stand upright, but my legs remain unsteady, like wobbly stilts beneath me. Each step is a deliberate act, as I navigate the room, cursing the stiffness that's settled in my limbs.

I put some shorts and a jumper on.

I shuffle my way over to the mirror, my legs making each step a chore. With each move, I'm reminded of the previous night and the price I'm paying for it now.

Finally reaching the mirror, I'm greeted by a reflection that's a far cry from the composed person I usually see staring back at me. My hair is disheveled, and the remnants of last night's makeup give my face a rather haggard appearance. The harsh light of the bathroom only accentuates the dark circles under my eyes.

As I peer into my own tired gaze, I can't help but chuckle at the disheveled figure before me.

My eyes drop down toward my neck, and a gasp escapes my lips as I notice the purplish-toned bruises that have bloomed there.

A mix of emotions floods over me – surprise, embarrassment, and a touch of amusement. The memory of how those marks came to be flashes through my mind, and I can't help but smile despite the awkwardness of the situation.