The next morning, I wake up with a pounding headache. Blinding light streams in through unfamiliar curtains.
It takes a moment for everything to come rushing back, the pieces falling into place with a sickening thud. I’m in Alex’s bed, his arm draped over me, his face peaceful in sleep.
A wave of regret crashes over me. What have I done?
But then I remind myself: I broke up with Benedict before leaving the gala last night. Technically, we were no longer together.
Right?
I sit up slowly, careful not to wake him. I look at him, sleeping there, calm as a baby. And it hits me: I no longer love this person. I really don’t. Any feelings I once had for him are completely gone.
Quietly, carefully I pull on my clothes. Then I grab my phone and see several missed calls from Maya and Benedict. A wave of nausea hits me — is it the alcohol from last night or is it guilt settling like a stone in my stomach?
I text Maya: Sorry about last night. I messed up. Can I come over? I need a place to stay.