I Don't Belong Here

Brian's POV.

It was so quiet.

Too quiet. I wasn't in my house.

What the fuck?

I opened my eyes unwillingly, and felt this pressure on my arm.

There was...Addie.

Oh. I remember now.

We fucked. I grinned. Then, it faltered. I had done exactly what she said I would do.

I wanted to feel bad, to feel guilty...

But I just couldn't. I just kept grinning. And, who knows? Maybe because we've gotten so...close, we'd get along more.

"Ads...," I nudged her left shoulder, the arm resting on my chest wobbling slightly. "Addie, wake up."

"No," she mumbled, incoherent words following a few seconds later.

I chuckled, and whispered, "You're so ho - beautiful."

Her eyes opened, as if she hadn't realized there was aawesome naked guitarist in her bed.

"What. The. Fuck?!" she screeched, sitting upright.

Okay, so maybe she hadn't. Fuck.

"What?" I asked, hurt.

Addie's POV.

"What the hell are you doing in my bed? And why are you naked?!" I cried. I felt a cool breeze pass over my -

Holy fuck!

"Why am I naked?!" I cried again, grabbing the sheets and covering myself up.

"Babe, it's not like I haven't seen you - "

"Don't finish that sentence. Brian, why am I naked? Seriously," I was close to tears from all the confusion.

"...I came to your house to try to be friends, and you just pulled me in, and I don't know," he said sheepishly, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck, "We started making out, so I thought you had forgiven me, and afterwards, we had sex. I...thought it was almost like make-up sex."

"How - could - I - " I sputtered. "I was intoxicated. Couldn't you smell my breath when you were apparently making out with me?! Jesus fuck, Brian!"

"What? Was having sex with me really that bad?"

I found myself speechless.

"Just...Don't do it again," I spat, getting out of bed and gathering my scattered clothes.

"You...are so fucking bipolar!" he shouted, standing up and collecting his clothes.

Ouch, that hurt.

"First, you're mad at me, then you start making out with me - "

"I was drunk," I interrupted harshly. He glared at me.

"And now, you're all mad at me. If that's how it is, fine. Don't talk to me ever again outside of the studio or for business issues."

As he said all this, he put his clothes back on smoothly, almost as if he had done this too many times before (which he probably had), and promptly left my room and house, noting to slam the door as he walked outside.

I sat down and was so confused that I wanted to start crying again.

Why? I thought.

Why am I upset that he's being such a bitch to me?