Coraline ElissThe feel of the bed shifting began to draw the brunette from her unconscious state. Who in the
world was in her hotel room? Going out for a drink was not something Coraline did often; she
didn't find herself enjoying the taste and she hated the thought of being disoriented, admittedly she
was a control freak, and the thought of not being able to control her actions left her anxious. She
made a noise in the back of her throat - a commotion that was caught somewhere between a sigh and a
groan. How much alcohol had she consumed last night? Try as she might the brunette's mind
stubbornly refused to string together a memory, almost as if it was set on punishing her the
girl thought scornfully. With the warmth withdrawn from her bare side Caroline quickly came to the
conclusion that the bed truly wasn't all that comfortable - letting out a soft sigh she began to stir,
half tempted to turn onto her other side in hopes of finding new comfort, but as the ungodly hangover
began to set in, the thought of returning back to her restful slumber was the furthest thing on her
mind. Drawing the sheet over her chest she sat up much too sharply for her scrambled mind, but before she could stumble out of the hotel bed in search for painkillers her hazel eyes took in her surroundings and landed on the stranger who stood a few feet away from the bed. Months from now the brunette would definitely scold herself, but in the moment she merely gaped at the man - staring up at him like a deer in the headlights. Coraline couldn't piece together much from the night before, but she definitely did not recall following some guy back to his hotel - that wasn't usually in her nature, it was more so her best friend's speed. Speaking of her best friend and the woman Coraline currently held responsible for the uncomfortable situation she found herself in - Where in the hell was Gaby?
Wifey? That was definitely a strange form of greeting. The twenty-three year old's dark brows furrowed in confusion, "
Pardon?" She questioned, thinking that she misunderstood what the guy mumbled - it was definitely the accent, she reassured herself. The longer she sat there the more self conscious Coraline began to grow under the stranger's gaze - she knew she probably looked an absolute state. Her raked a hand through the rats nest that took claim of dark locks hoping to tame them, but almost immediately gave up.
It was a wasted effort, the girl thought bitterly as she massaged her pounding temples only to flinch at the unfamiliar feeling of cool metal against her warm skin. Her heart hammered in her chest cavity as she withdrew her hand with a quickness she never knew she possessed and she swore she could have fainted when her eyes landed on the silver band that glared up at her from her willowy ring finger. Her eyes darted from the ring and back to the male in an almost accusing fashion - this had to be some barbaric hoax on her best friend's behalf; in fact she was sure Gaby would come bustling in any second cackling her curly-haired head off. If the situation wasn't already uncomfortable for the brunette, this definitely made it quite worse for her.
"Could you possibly pass me my shirt?" She needed clothes, food, and a nice heavy dose of painkillers before she came to terms with her
marriage. Goodness, she would not live this down. Gaby, and all of their friends back in Florida, would find a hoot out of this.
If the circumstances weren't so painfully awkward Caroline would have laughed at the irony - her roommate, Jeremy, had made countless jokes about something like happening to one of the girls before the friends left for Vegas.
"Somebody always leaves married in Vegas," He teased and now Coraline wished she paid attention to his silly words. Once she was handed her clothes from the night before she wasted no time in redressing herself - thankful that she was now wearing more than a thin sheet.
"Do you...remember anything from last night?" The brunette questioned unsurely - hoping he at least remembered more than her. She could recall her blonde friend teasing her about being sober, she remembered that god-awful bar named
Syn or something unoriginal like that, she could even remember trying to keep up with her friend who easily threw back shot after shot - but try as she might she could not but the stranger's
handsome face to a name.
The familiar feeling of nausea itched the back of the girl's throat and for the second time that afternoon she felt like she was going to be sick. Getting herself hitched to a stranger while completely hammered was not on her bucket list - in fact it was probably the furthest thing on her mind! What would her estranged mother say?
Breathe, breathe, breathe the silent mantra did little to calm her nerves as she stared into the male's unfamiliar brown eyes from her spot on the bed. She wanted to ask if the two of them were actually married - but the last she wanted to do was come off as an idiot, of course they were. How mortifying, desperately she wished that she could have been the first to wake up, at least then she would have time to think and put herself in control of the situation.
"This is definitely not a big deal, right?" She asked, pushing her pesky fringe out of her eyes. She was looking for reassurance from the male, hoping he would say something that could calm her nerves. All they had to do was get everything settled - this was Vegas, this happened all the time! Caroline was fairly certain that everything would be done and other with within the hour - Gaby, or anyone else for that matter, would never have to know!
Oliver SykesOliver Sykes was not an alcoholic, or that's what he repeated to himself. The alcohol was just an appreciated escape - it was something that kept the dark thoughts at bay. The brunette usually preferred having a drink at his flat with a mate because he preferred the privacy, but his friends were busy, or they were trying to stay sober as a New Year's Resolution - admittedly the singer picked at the thought of giving up alcohol, but couldn't bring himself to do so especially with the shit storm he was going through with Hannah. Why should he? It wasn't as if he was a danger to anyone around him and he still took care of his responsibilities with the band and his clothing line, though admittedly he needed prodding here and there from a band mate or his younger brother. He wasn't all too surprised that the bar was nearly vacant that night - the weather outside was down right nasty. It was melodramatic to admit but the brunette didn't mind the frigid air around him, he felt as if it matched the state he was in - icy and bitter. He didn't know why he tried anymore with the opposite sex, or with anyone for that matter. He felt inadequate, he felt used - these were feelings the twenty-eight year old was used to at this point in his life, but they still burned none the less. Fuck, he was lonely. It was pathetic - it was juvenile, even - but fuck he was tired of the hollow feeling inside of him. He thought that Hannah had been the answer to his loneliness, fuck he had fallen so hard for the model only to have it all thrown back in his face - the love of his life was just like the rest of the women he had encountered in his life. When the entrance door was flung open he couldn't muster up the energy to glance upward, he simply didn't care enough. It was either another old bat, or some lonely old sod. Briefly he felt sympathetic for the man behind the bar - the poor lad looked like he was dying to close up and get home.
His chin was settled on the top of his hand as he stared down at the glass in front of him - the first of many, he thought with a bitter chuckle. The lad wished he could feel satisfied in his life. He could have any girl he wanted, he had fans who were dying to get into bed with him, but the life style wasn't appealing to him anymore. He was nearly thirty for chrissakes! To be completely honest, despite what many people probably thought of the singer, sleeping around was never something Oliver fancied. The brunette was known to have an addictive personality and woman were no different for the singer - once he opened himself up to somebody he had a hard time shaking them from his mind. It was the main reason he was always left hurt and picking up the pieces - he felt hard and fucking fast; half the time he felt like a damn girl. The ringing of a phone broke his train of thought and he couldn't help but glance over with mild curiosity.
He was briefly surprised at his discovery - she was definitely a new face, probably the assumed bloke who strolled in not too long ago. Was she even old enough to buy a drink? As he watched the girl to his left he couldn't help but quirk a dark brow in faint amusement - she looked so out of place in the dim lit bar - like a work of art strung up in a dingy alley, he scolded himself at the thought. Jesus, he needed another drink. Despite her beauty his interest wavered and he was once more wallowing in the depths of self pity. The last thing he needed to do was creep on some girl who was half his age - God, that would be horrific press for him and the band. He could already see the blog posts slandering his name now - Oliver Sykes the drunken pedophile, how charming. Despite trying to ignore the girl's presence he couldn't help but grin as he listened in on her hushed conversation - he was right when he assumed she wasn't a bar kind of girl, she seemed absolutely clueless; it was kind of cute.
Hannah was never much of a drinker but whenever Oli convinced her to have a drink or two she always ordered a margarita, the memory of the brunette made the brunette frown for what like the thousandth time that night. Why did she plague his mind? He wished he could move on just as easily as she had - but here he sat mourning her absence. It was pathetic, he was pathetic. He debated on leaving the bar realizing that it was doing him more harm than good, but his attention was caught once more by the exchange between the girl and the bartender. She was spending what was probably her eighteenth birthday on her own at a dull bar surrounded by nothing but strangers. Where were her friends? He assumed that they must have been the ones on the phone but he didn't have much time to muse over his thoughts, because his eyes soon met a pair of startling blue orbs. Jesus - he hadn't meant to be caught openly staring at the girl.
He twisted his lips to the side not entirely sure how to go about this - he could look away, or engage in conversation. He was grateful that the girl didn't seem to recognize him, he loathed dealing with crazed fans.
" "Not much of a margarita girl are you?" His amusement got the better of him and his mouth was moving before his brain could really comprehend what was happening - fuck, this was the last thing he needed tonight. It was too late, however, because before he knew it her soft voice was directed at him. He crinkled his nose in thought - he wasn't sure the girl would fancy anything he drank.
"I usually like to keep it a bit simply," As if to further his point he gestured towards his Lager - he honestly drank whatever got the job done, he wasn't too picky.
"If you're trying to get smashed I recommend some Vodka with a good chaser." Which was probably what he planned on ordering next from the bartender who had once more disappeared. He finished off the rest of the class that had been sitting in front of him for some time before focusing his attention on the girl,
"It's your birthday, yeah?" He questioned, tapping his foot against the carpeted floor - he hoped it wouldn't seem as if he had been listening to the exchange between her and the bartender.
"Happy birthday - next drinks on me, yeah?"