Sᴇᴘᴛᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 22. 2024.
"Where have you been, Lexy?" Katya asks groggily after coming face to face with her previously missing friend on the staircase.
Alessia was in the midst of hauling herself up the stairs when she seemed to have materialized at the top before her, scratching at her scalp like her hair hasn't been washed in weeks. Alessia groans wearily, leaning on the railing. She doesn't want to be bothered, but Kat looks so worried taking in her appearance and she knows that she isn't looking her best. She knows that the girl might get the wrong idea.
A thin strap of her crumpled dress is hanging off her shoulder, her strapped sandals are untied, her panty is hooked on the middle finger of her left hand and hickeys are lining her once perfectly clear skin from her neck to her chest. There's nothing but crap to say about her hair so let's refrain from that. Katya breathes slowly to level her thoughts and the panic swelling inside of her.
"A–Are you okay?" She stutters involuntarily, worrying about her condition. If anything was done to her without consent, I swear to God I will kill-
Alessia holds up a weak hand, silently asking for a moment. Then, she meets Katya's fearful gaze and says, "I'm fine. I just need some sleep."
She nods eagerly, sighing in relief, "Okay." Maybe she really is fine and only seeking the comfort of her bed. After all, she was out all night... She must be on the brink of passing out.
If she is hurt...she'd say something, wouldn't she?
• • •
Alessia is lying in her bed, finally, hugging her pillow to her chest and staring into space. She keeps thinking over what occurred between her and Vincent last night, replaying it in her head to calculate if it was a bad choice. Was what she did wrong? It didn't feel wrong, but it didn't feel right either. It just...happened, because she wanted it to happen. She had asked for it to happen. If it wasn't him, then it would've been a total stranger.
She wasn't drunk and he wasn't drunk. He didn't coax her into anything–it was the other way around. Then, why does she keep thinking about it when she doesn't feel an ounce of regret for what she did? Maybe because it was her first time? However, except for the constant pegging in the back of her head and the soreness between her legs, she doesn't feel any different. She isn't sex-crazed now or mysteriously in love with her first. Nothing changed about her, and the relief she felt had only lasted for the night...
The door to her room creaks open and Katya walks in with a glass of water and two capsules of painkillers. Alessia closes her eyes, waiting for her to put them down on the nightstand and leave. When Kat's presence disappears from the space and the door closes again, her thoughts continue from where they left off, but her eyelids have grown too heavy to lift open again.
Does she not care because it wasn't Phillipeño? No... She didn't care then either. He was the one who cared. He wanted to feel something magical for her first before he went to the last base with her. Alessia...doesn't believe in magic, nor miracles. Phillipeño had crushed her then, but the hurt wasn't bad. It was funny. Now? It isn't.
Out of the blue, annoyance starts prickling up her skin and she rolls over to the centre of the bed, lying on her left side. Vincent Guiseppe is an arrogant and boastful boy. He promised he won't tell—she remembers that clearly—but, even if he has good intentions, according to him, he doesn't have a filter and his mouth is like a spring. Someway, somehow, news about their hook up is going to get out and it's going to be a damn pain in her neck.
She can't deal with anymore pains in her neck.
Exhaling quietly, she starts fading in and out of consciousness. Her thinking becomes incomprehensive and soon, she's out, mumbling, "Fucking pain in my ass is next..."
One sheep, two sheep, three sheep, four...