Hangover

Lucien’s expression faltered, following his boss’s gaze and through the tinted glass, catching a glimpse of the woman earlier.

Like any other person, she was just an ordinary lady who was wasted, wandering the lot in search of her car.

It was the first time he had ever seen a silver-haired person. And the innocence yet pain in those eyes was rare, something the world didn't deserve.

“My bet someone broke her heart,” The man beside revealed. History repeats itself. Most women cry under the solace of alcohol rather than tears.

“I’ll bet something deeper,” Lucien replied, his eyes fixed outside.

The woman staggered, trying impossibly hard to find her car among the crowd of cars parked at the lot.

A kind fit for a corolla.

In her current situation, it wasn’t safe for someone like her to roam vulnerably in the den of beasts. She was clearly not in the right state of mind.

They could hear her curse even without speaking. She was like an open book, easy to read and far easier to predict.

Again, too vulnerable for this world.

One could tell it was her first time being drunk. And yet the pain in her eyes was far perceptible than the effect of the drink.

“Care for a popcorn?” He quietly asked, and Lucien’s silence spoke the words ‘stfu’. “Are you always this cold or does the boss affect it?”

Silence.

And he sighed, settling his weight on his seat as he joined the grown men watching the drunk woman teetering in the lot.

Suddenly, music blazed through the air, shattering the quietness, as two people stumbled out almost half-naked, moaning away their desires.

As expected of a sight, they looked away, monitoring the silver-haired looking like she was going to puke.

“Seems like silver is not just an angel,” He scoffed, biting down the urge to laugh but a chill from behind straightened his spine.

And he turned silent.

However, she was much of a fighter than a softie when she struggled to regain her consciousness, lost in thought.

It took exactly half an hour before a car drove in, sparking their interest— almost an act of alert— sensing how fast and reckless the driver was.

But when the headlight flashed off, and the driver revealed herself, it relaxed the sudden tension.

The woman had joined with another woman. From the way they conversed, they could tell they were close.

She was tall, sober, and sharp, the kind of friend who only came out when the damage control was urgent, most especially with the ‘bad-ass’ attitude. A kind that spoke ‘mess-with-my-girl-and-I’ll-fuck-you-up’ type.

She said something, took the keys, and steered the drunk one away with practiced grace.

The men at the front seat watched silently when they reached a car— a modest one this time— and got in.

There was a sigh from behind. “Let’s go,” and Lucien glanced at the spot for one last time, before hitting the gear, stepping on the pedals as the Buggatti’s sharp engine fired off the parking lot and into the dark.

***

Olivia’s POV

“BLEE,” I retched out everything I consumed last night, until my stomach felt empty and light again when I walked back into my room.

Holy. Shit.

That was the first word my brain could operate, as I processed the misery soaring through every part of my muscles.

It was sharp and brutal, reminding my body of the consequences of handling a dozen shots while sulking, reminding me— Olivia Hayes— who was a complete drunk-ass-stupor last night.

“Urgh,” I groaned out loud. My head felt like a billion shit.

I winced, massaging my temples, but it only seemed to worsen the pain. And the sun?

The sun felt like an assault.

I wasn’t entirely sure whether it was actually rising or if God had just decided to throw a spotlight directly at my eyeballs for punishment. My head pounded with the force of a thousand gongs, every thud reminding me of last night’s tequila-induced disaster.

I could swear my senses were suddenly heightened. Like the ones described in books where vampires could hear sounds from a million miles away, and even the ones described as ‘superheroes’ from Nickelodeon.

Trust me, I know I’m old enough already but I do sit at home watching Henry Danger, most especially, like it makes my whole ideology supernatural beings truly exist.

And I was literally becoming one.

I could hear the kettle rattling with simmering moisture, a gentle breeze escaping through the window, the sound of barely audible voices coming from the familiar Haunted Heart by Christina Aguilera TV show, Loretta— my neighbour’s dog— I thought, barking from a distance, and the almost perfect footsteps approaching.

Almost.

If not for the click-clack.

“You’re awake,” There was an undeniable tinge of pent-up annoyance in her tone when she walked into the room.

God, why did coffee and lavender-scented candles smell disgusting?

I struggled to take a glimpse behind the heavy-weight of my eyelid and noticed the familiar apartment. I noticed the couch, the bathroom exit, the tables…

My coat—still inside out—was draped half off the edge of Sophia’s couch, and my shoes were lying at opposite ends of the living room like they’d gotten into a fight and needed space.

Nope, not mine.

Sophia’s apartment smelled like coffee and lavender-scented candles. A cruel combo for someone with a hangover that could rival an atomic bomb.

“Fuck,” I groaned, pulling the throw blanket over my head as if it could shield me from life.

But life didn’t wait.

“Here,” I heard her say, slowly dropping the blanket as she stretched the mug to my face.

I winced at the smell. God, I hate the smell.

“It’ll help with the hangover.” She said and I grabbed it. “Figured Martha’s home-made recipe when I couldn't bear walking down the street to get pain killers. Careful, it tastes pretty awful,” She warned.

However, the only difference was that she didn't look pitied. Like someone quietly lethal waiting for the perfect time to erupt.

Right.

I grimaced when the liquid went down my throat and into my stomach.

“Drink up,” Sophia urged, giving me a look I so desperately yearn to wipe off.

I downed them all till the last drop, shoving the cup after before rising to sit half-done, back resting on the headboard.

Sophia collected it, lowering the cup on a nearby table and I struggled to catch a glimpse of her overwhelmed face like she hadn't shut an eyelid for the entire night.

I instantly felt horrible.

But my hangover was worse. Gosh, I’m never drinking ever again.

“Did you get any rest?” I finally asked, breaking the silence, too loud to bear anymore.

“Doesn’t matter,” She responded, tucking a few fallen pieces of strands of her hair behind her ear, focusing on whatever she was doing.

“Sophia…”

“Olivia,” She cut in, not sharp but soft and polite. “I called Felix,” She started. “the moment I noticed you were out late, thinking you were with him, and maybe spend the whole night there, because you weren't picking up. But imagine my shock and anger when he told me you both broke up and he has no idea where you were,”

***