One Drunken Night

Morning After

My head was f*****g killing me. The kind of hangover that made me regret every shot I’d taken the night before. Sunlight stabbed through the curtains like it had a personal grudge, and my mouth tasted like ass. I sat on the edge of the bed for a while, elbows on my knees, staring at the girl still asleep beside me. Sienna. Dark hair all over the pillow, sheet pulled up around her.

I don't do mornings after. That was rule number one. One night, no strings, no bullshit feelings. Get in, get off, get out. Simple. Worked for years.

Until last night.

The small dark stain on the sheet kept catching my eye. Blood. Not a ton, but enough to make my stomach turn. s**t. That changed things.

She stirred after a few minutes, making a small sound as she woke up. Her body went stiff the second she remembered where she was.

“Hey,” I said, keeping it low.

She turned over slowly, clutching the sheet tight to her chest. Her hair was a mess, makeup smudged, eyes wary when they met mine. She looked exactly like a girl who’d just had her first time with a drunk stranger. Great.

“Hi,” she said quietly.

The silence felt awkward as hell. I rubbed my face, trying to ignore the pounding in my skull. “You… alright?”

She glanced at the stain, then away fast. Her cheeks went red. “Yeah. A little sore. You?”

“Like shit.” I gave a short laugh that hurt. “Should’ve stopped drinking earlier.”

More silence. I could hear people moving around downstairs, the house slowly waking up from the wreckage of last night. I needed to get this over with.

“About last night,” I started. “Was that… your first time?”

She bit her lip, looking down at the sheet. After a long pause she nodded. “Yeah.”

“Fuck.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I didn’t know. I was hammered, Sienna. I remember some of it — the dancing, you asking me to go slow — but not all of it. Not like I should have.”

She stayed quiet for a bit, then shrugged. “I knew you were drunk. I wasn’t. I still went with you.”

That should’ve made me feel better. It didn’t. It just made the whole thing feel messier.

She started reaching for her clothes on the floor. I turned away, giving her space while she got dressed. The rustle of fabric filled the room. When I looked back she was pulling her shirt on, trying to fix her hair into a quick ponytail. She looked smaller in the daylight. More real.

“You need a ride or anything?” I asked. Bare minimum.

“No, I’m good.”

I nodded. Part of me knew I should ask for her number. Text her later, make sure she wasn’t f****d up about this. But the second the thought crossed my mind, the old instincts kicked in hard. Numbers led to attachments. Attachments led to drama. I didn’t do that. Ever.

She finished getting ready and stood by the door, one hand on the handle. She looked like she wanted to say something else.

“I don’t regret it,” she said after a moment. “I wanted it. Even if it was… a lot.”

I believed her. Mostly. Still didn’t fix the weird twist in my gut.

“Alright,” I said. “Take it easy.”

She gave a small nod. “You too, Liam.”

Then she was gone. The door clicked shut, and the room went quiet. Too quiet.

I sat there staring at the empty space for a while. The stained sheet was still there like a f*****g accusation. I stripped the bed eventually, wadded everything up and shoved it in the corner. I’d deal with it later. Or not. Whatever.

Downstairs the house was a disaster zone. Solo cups, spilled drinks, a couple guys still passed out. I grabbed my jacket and got the hell out without talking to anyone.

The walk home sucked. Sun too bright, head still pounding, legs heavy. Every step reminded me of her asking me to go slow, the way her body had tensed at first, the sounds she made. I tried to push it out of my head. This was nothing. Just another hookup. A little messier than usual, but nothing I couldn’t shake.

Back at my apartment I took a long shower, then crashed on my bed. Phone in hand, I scrolled through messages from the guys asking where I disappeared to. I answered a couple with vague s**t, then tossed it aside.

I should forget her. That’s what I always did. Move on. Next weekend there’d be another party, another girl who knew the game. Easy. No complications.

But the thought kept circling back. Her quiet laugh when we danced like idiots. The nervous way she’d looked at me in that room. The fact that I’d been her first and I’d been too drunk to do it right.

Annoying as hell.

I told myself it didn’t matter. Liam Hart didn’t chase. He didn’t do second chances or guilt trips or any of that relationship crap. One drunken night. That was it. End of story.

Except the quiet in my apartment felt heavier than usual. And no matter how many times I tried to convince myself this was no big deal, a small part of me wouldn’t shut the f**k up about her.

I rolled over and closed my eyes, willing sleep to come. It took a long time.