The lingering scent of vanilla and something distinctly masculine hung in the air, a stark contrast to the sugary sweetness of the party from the night before. My head throbbed, a dull, insistent ache that mirrored the chaotic swirl of my memories. Or rather, the lack thereof. I blinked, trying to focus on the unfamiliar ceiling above me. This wasn't my room. The walls weren't the right shade of pale blue, and the furniture was too sleek, too modern. A cold dread washed over me. THE FUUCCKK!! My internal scream was a silent, panicked shriek. Had I been kidnapped?
I scrambled into a sitting position, my eyes darting around the room, searching for clues, for an escape route. My heart pounded against my ribs like a trapped bird. On the dresser, a small, polished wooden box caught my attention. Hesitantly, I reached for it, my fingers trembling as I lifted the lid. Inside, nestled on a soft velvet lining, were photographs. Familiar faces, familiar smiles… but they were Jason's photos. My breath hitched. NO NO NO, it can't be! I whispered, the words barely audible. I am in the house of JASON!
"Yes, love," a smooth, deep voice echoed from the doorway. "You're awake already," Jason said, leaning against the doorframe, a casual smirk playing on his lips. He looked impossibly relaxed, as if this was a perfectly normal morning.
My panic morphed into a fiery rage. "What the fuck did you do to me?" I yelled, my voice cracking with a mix of fear and anger.
He raised his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. "Chill," he said, his voice calm, almost amused.
"How can I be chill when I don't even know you anywhere except from school?" I retorted, my voice rising in pitch.
"So, I should have left you in the club?" he asked, his brow furrowed slightly.
"No, no," I laughed nervously, the sound hollow and forced. The thought of being left alone, vulnerable, was terrifying. But being here, in his house, with no memory of how I got here, was equally unsettling. "But... but how did I get here?"
"You had a bit too much to drink," he explained, his eyes softening slightly. "Jayla had already left, and you were... well, you weren't in a state to get home. I couldn't just leave you there."
My cheeks flushed crimson. Of course. Of all the nights to overindulge, it had to be the night I was around him. "And you couldn't call me a taxi, or call Jayla back, or call my parents?" I asked, my voice laced with sarcasm.
"I tried calling Jayla, but she didn't answer. As for your parents, I didn't want to worry them unnecessarily. Besides, you kept saying you didn't want to go home."
"What?" I asked, my brow furrowing in confusion.
"You were… quite insistent," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You mentioned something about wanting to see my record collection."
My mind was a blank slate. I had no recollection of any of this. "Your record collection?" I repeated, my voice flat.
He nodded, a playful glint in his eyes. "Yes. You have excellent taste, by the way. Very eclectic." He walked over to the dresser, picking up a photograph. "Look, here's a picture of my dog when he was a puppy. His name is Mozart."
As he showed me the picture, I noticed that he seemed genuinely kind. It was so confusing. The boy who read my diary, the boy whose house I woke up in, and the boy standing in front of me seemed to be different people. The panic was still there, but it was now mixed with a strange, hesitant curiosity.
"So," he said, putting the picture back, "are you hungry? I can make some breakfast."
I hesitated, my stomach churning with a mix of nerves and the remnants of last night's alcohol. "Maybe just some water," I managed to say.
He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Of course. Water it is. And then, we can figure out how to get you home." As he walked towards the door, I found myself watching him, a million questions swirling in my mind. This morning was a disaster, but it was a disaster that was quickly becoming more complicated than I could have ever imagined.
Stay tuned for chapter 5