Serina
My head is so foggy. My eyes so heavy. I don't remember much of last night. I have the heaviness in my limbs of being asleep for a long time. Any movement makes me feel like I am about to hurl. I only had maybe five drinks in the six hours I remember being at the club.
Lifting me head from the pillow, I keep my eyes fastened closed as the world spins and a loud moan falls from my chest. Pain radiates.
"Good morning siren," a growl comes from somewhere near me.
I instantly tense. I know that voice. That voice makes me wet and makes me quiver. But there is anger there. I hate that the anger makes me feel meek. What gives him the f*****g right to get angry with me when he is the one who goes to Paris without even a goodbye and f***s other girls on his stage.
