Chapter 6 An aftermath of a drunk night

Jannah's POV

"I hate hangovers." I groan, clutching the sides of my head. Damn it, my head feels like it's pumping something. I can feel the pressure on both sides of my head, and all I can do is silently scold myself.

Thankfully, I always keep a pack of Tylenol in my bedside cabinet and a bottle of water by the foot of my bed. Today they've really come in handy. I manage to raise my body from the bed with a lot of effort. The last time I remember being this hungover was my high school graduation after-party. That was like eons ago and also the first and last time I'd dabbled in alcohol.

I've always hated drugs, so as soon as I fill my mouth with water, I pop the pill in and swallow it immediately, my eyes shut tight. Now that I'm done with the remedy session of my hangover, it occurs to me that I'm still in my dress from last night.

Wait a minute... last night? As the drama queen I am, I pat my body from head to toe-what I'm searching for, I'm not sure, but I can't help it. I pause for a minute, and my hand travels to the middle of my legs... you can't blame me for being presumptuous. Okay, I'm intact.

When I'm sure everything is okayish, I sit still, racking my brain furiously to recall any of last night's events. At first, the pain from the migraine becomes more pressing and diverts my attention, but as soon as it subsides, my memories come together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

First was Ethan. Then Ethan again. Carrying me. Fuck! Then I asked him to ki-

"No, no, no, no!" I say aloud. Afterwards, I press my clasped hands over my mouth, but it's not ideal for muffling the scream I want to let out, so I grab my pillow instead.

"Fucking idiot!" I scream into my pillow, my whole face pressed tight against it to drown the sound. My brain, despite my obvious need to forget last night, still goes ahead and reminds me I asked Ethan to kiss me. I scream again. This time, it's an ear-piercing sound. No words.

*******

"Sweet Jesus, this has to be the most cringe thing in the history of cringeness I've done," I say into my speaker. Just so you know, this is approximately three hours later, and I'm still reeling in shame as I lament to Kaitlyn.

"So what are you going to do about it? Never leave your hotel room? Get over it. You were drunk. It could have been anyone," Kaitlyn says pointedly. I nod like I understand what she's saying. I don't.

"Kait, I called 'cause you're to blame too-"

"Ha! Here you go again. Don't blame me for this one. I didn't ask you to drink tequila that knocked you out of your senses," she says aloud in her defense, and I imagine her jumping off her bed when she says 'ha!'.

"Whatever," I roll my eyes. I really wish I could put the blame on her, though.

"Look, you can either act like a coward-which, no offense, you're acting like-and avoid him, ruin your vacation, yada yada. Or," she pauses, "you can act like a grown adult who got turned down while she was drunk and doesn't see it as a big deal even though she's dying inside."

"Ouch. Well, that was very straightforward. Offense taken." I twirl my hair around my finger, weighing the two options. I don't care if Kaitlyn thinks I'm a coward, but the first option is way more tempting.

"You have to choose, either way. So what's your plan?"

"I'll pray about it," I giggle. Kaitlyn snorts, and we end up laughing. I feel instantly relieved after this, and I'm grateful for Kaitlyn-even though I feel like pushing her off a cliff most times.

I think I know what to do. And it's neither of the above. Lord, may I not regret this.

*******

Having curly hair has been a blessing and a curse. It just depends on the day. Well, today it's a curse-or maybe it's partly because I just remembered I didn't bring my hair straightener along.

A tanned face, furrowed brows, lopsided lips curved at the corners, brown freckles with a pink hue in the background, and a clenched jaw were my reflection in the mirror... you get the picture.

"Screw this anyway," I toss my wooden brush on the floor and tie my brown hair back with a scarf.

I'm not sure if I'm angry with my hair or myself. I know it's not a big deal-or at least I convince myself that it's really nothing-but it doesn't sit well, and I begin to think about what kind of person Ethan would think I am. The word desperate syncs with the situation, and I let out a defeated sigh.

I'm outside my hotel room, strolling-no, roaming around-with the hopes that I bump into Ethan. I've decided to thank him for bringing me to my room, then apologize for the awkwardness.

My neck cranes to the sides, and every dark-haired guy above six feet catches my attention. The place isn't exactly rowdy, but people aren't sparse either. My patience is beginning to thin out. I can tell because I've started to curse and crack my knuckles.

The sound of distant waves and chatters doesn't help my mood one bit.

Thirty minutes later... Offering a silent prayer, I hope my effort of loitering isn't in vain. A line of sweat trickles down my neck, reminding me of the heat and the comfort of my air-conditioned room. Just when I start to feel hopeless, I spot a dark-haired guy. He's backing me, so I don't see his face.

My poor sight doesn't help either, so I have to squint, my palms cupped above my eyes. I can feel my heart perform an excited backflip when I get a glimpse of his profile. There's a large eagle tattoo that covers most of his back; its beak is open, claws curved as though it wants to pick off its prey-and here I thought he was a sweet boy.

I take a few hurried steps forward.

"Ethan!" I holler. He doesn't hear me and is still deep in conversation with a guy with a surfboard.

"Hey!" I shout louder. The guy beside him points at me. Ethan looks my way, squints, then waves slowly, a bright smile on his face. I wave back with a stupid grin on my face.

This is my chance. Now or never.

"Excuse me," I say to a group of guys blocking my path. There and then, the wind whips off my scarf-my Alexander McQueen scarf. Luckily for me, it's only a few feet away, and I hurry to pick it up.

Ethan, on the other hand, isn't where I last saw him. I don't think he's gone, so I give my environment a 360-degree scan, and there he is... My face falls into a frown immediately. My grip on my scarf tightens as I glare.

You shouldn't be this petty, I tell myself. He doesn't owe you an explanation, Jannah. He never led you on. But it doesn't matter. I'm pissed because I feel like such a fool.

Raquel is wiping off what I guess is sand from his shoulder, but it's not that-it's the way she looks at him that makes me... jealous?

With clenched fists and a hard set jaw, I walk away as fast as I can.