Detention ➳ Larry

Chapter seventeen

(Alex's POV)

I wake up feeling like shit, to say the very least. My throat burns like razors have cut all over it, leaving a scratchy, sore feeling. My head is throbbing and feels like there's bees buzzing around inside of it. Basically, I think that I'm about to die, and that's not even an exaggeration. I keep my eyes closed, fearful that if I open them the sunlight will sting them.

I groan and shift in my bed, trying to get comfortable. Well, I think today's going to be a lazy day. I'm just going to sleep here all day and lounge around in my tiny hotel room. I'm done drinking and partying for the rest of my life. It's not worth this fucking pain.

Now that I think about pain . . . my asshole hurts. What. The. Hell?

I weakly open my eyes, adjusting to the light streaming through the hotel window. I immediately see a sleeping boy's face, and he's turned towards me. His eyelids are closed and soft snores are escaping his partly-opened lips. His skin is tanned and his hair is dark like the night sky. His eyelashes are extremely long. Honestly, he looks beautiful . . . but that's besides the point.

The point is that I'm in bed with another guy besides Louis, which is definitely not okay.

Oh my God. What did I do last night? I honestly don't remember a thing after Louis left the club. I gulp nervously and peek under the sheets, hoping that I'm still wearing some clothes.

Nope... shit.

I sigh and stand up from the bed, careful not to wake the mystery sleeping boy. I pull on my boxers located next to the bed, then stumble weakly into the bathroom.

I lean over the sink, then splash my face with cold water, somehow hoping that it'll refresh my memory. Maybe I'll wake up and this will be all a dream? I continuously cup water in my hands in the sink, and bend over slightly to lessen the splash on the counters. Why can't I remember a single thing!? I must've been pretty wasted.

I just hope none of this effects Louis and I's relationship. I know we're not official, but we're kind of in that awkward-more-than-friends phase. The last thing I want to do is to make him upset.

What he doesn't know wont hurt him, right?

"What the Hell!?" I hear the boy cry.  Well, I guess he's awake now.

I lazily walk out of the bathroom in response to his screaming voice. He's sitting up in the bed, with a confused look plastered on his face. The covers are hiding his lower-area, and his back is leaning against the headboard. I stand a few feet away from the bed with my arms folded across my chest.

His eyes widen at me, "Who are you!?" he asks, a mixture of confusion and fear filling his voice.

I frown, "I could ask you the same thing, you twat." I snap, "This is my hotel room, after all."

He runs his hand through his hair, "Wh-what happened last night?" he croaks.

I shrug, "I wish I knew."

He scratches the back of his neck, trying to grasp the seriousness of the situation. He avoids eye-contact with me, which is a shame considering his eyes are so gorgeous.

"Uh . . . did we . . . y'know-" he begins shyly.

"Fuck?" I interrupt. His expression changes to desperation. It seems like he's never done this sort of thing with a guy before.

He frowns and gets out of the bed, angrily pushing the covers off the side and onto the floor. He quickly pulls on his clothes, not bothering to say anything to me. He slips his legs through his sweat pants then quickly throws his shirt over his head.