Alison Lawrence didn't know what having a tough life meant and had everything handed to her on a golden plate. Her life was immaculate with the perfect and caring boyfriend in it and a reign that mattered the world to her, both things she never want...
Ουπς! Αυτή η εικόνα δεν ακολουθεί τους κανόνες περιεχομένου. Για να συνεχίσεις με την δημοσίευση, παρακαλώ αφαίρεσε την ή ανέβασε διαφορετική εικόνα.
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A L I S O N
I wake up with a grounding headache on my temples; it pounds heavy and sharp, and just the thought of opening my eyes hurt. I let out a groan in response and when I finally settle my vision to the clarity coming from the window, my back to the wall, I realize I have no idea where I am.
The dark blue sheets are unfamiliar, and I'm pretty sure I've never seen the photos attached on top of the writing desk before. The entire room is immaculate and tidy. I remember drinking and dancing with Emma and Cody in the nightclub, but how I ended up here, it's a total question mark.
A deep breath is all I take before sitting on the bed, trying to ambiance myself, but the minute I see who's laying down on the mat next to me, I understand everything.
Tristan is shirtless, a white blanket covering the rest of his body, and his sleep is peaceful, his chest going calmy up and down; his golden locks falling on his eyes. My best friend slept on the floor so I could stay in his bed.
I don't know what I did to deserve him.
"Hey, Tristan," I murmur, my heart tightening at the thought of waking him up, but I can't just wander around his house like I own the place and my belly is urging for food.
"What?" He growls in response, grabbing his pillow and covering both of his ears with it, and despite the pain, I chuckle at his reaction, flashbacks from yesterday crossing my mind.
"What was I thinking?" I don't realize but I mumble those words out loud to myself and Tristan seems to hear it when he says in a low voice, like scolding me for being drunk, "I have no idea either, Alison."
"Very fun-" I stop in the middle of my sentence as my mom's face comes into my mind and how worried she probably is. My best friend peaks from the pillow, raising his eyebrow and giving me a wide smile, as he notices the death look on my face.
I left Saturday night and didn't come back to my house, not even on Sunday morning.
I'm dead.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." That is all I can whisper as I quickly get out of the bed, uselessly trying to look less drunk and head to the side of the wall where my heels are carefully placed on, and instead of helping me, Tristan laughs, it echoes through his room. I show him my middle finger.
"Relax, Ali. I called your mom last night after you went to sleep and told her you were here." He simply says and I widen my eyes at him, my blood boiling and my breath becoming less and less steady. All of this stress was for nothing.
"You did what?" I demand, taking a deep breath so I don't hit him, but when Tristan pulls a smirk, his perfect teeth aligned, and mocks me, I absolutely lose it.
I run to him and my best friend doesn't even have time to react as I get on his lap, making him powerless and tightening my legs around him. I punch him playfully and he tries to hold my wrist while protecting his face with a white pillow. Our laughs are filling the air and my stomach hurting from the amount of them.
