I wake up, reluctant to open my eyes. My head is pounding and my body is covered in a cold sweat. My eyes flutter open and then widen with panic. The room is pitch-black and there is no sign of light anywhere. I sit up and realize this is not my bed. Where am I? My heart is pounding harder and harder in my chest as I whip the sheets off of me, realizing I am wearing nothing but lace underwear. Where are my clothes? My head is throbbing, worse than any hangover I have ever experienced. For some reason, I cannot remember anything that happened last night and I still have no idea where I am. Panic is setting in. I cautiously swing my legs over the bed and stand up, but my knees are wobbling and I end up needing to lean back against the bed to balance myself.
I hear a gentle groan and the weight of the bed shifts – and I realize I am not alone. There is a guy asleep in this bed. Who? This is seriously freaking me out. And while I suspect that I know the identity of this mystery man, I definitely do not remember jumping into bed with him in my underwear. If that happened last night, it would be the only thing replaying in my mind. On repeat. Seriously, did that happen? I must have been completely wasted to hook up with him and not recall a thing. Must be why I feel like death. What did I drink last night?I slowly move away from the bed, cautiously putting my arms out to feel my way around the room. I must be in their hotel suite. I will just flick on the bathroom light so I can find my clothes without waking him and high-tail it out of here, before anyone else finds out about this. I stumble into a chair, but manage to find what feels to be the bathroom door. I slowly turn the door handle, hoping not to wake him. I flick the light on, quickly closing the door behind me so the light will not seep into the room. I really do not think I can handle him waking up right now. The reflection I am staring into in the bathroom mirror is not a pretty sight. My hair is a disheveled mess and the remnants of my makeup from last night are still on my face. There is a smear of mascara around my left eye and my cheeks are pasty and smudged from the faded blush. Gross. I need to find my clothes and slip out of here – I have walk-of-shame written all over my face right now. I look down and realize there is a small trail of what looks like blood.
I frantically comb over every inch of my body, relieved that there appears to be no cuts or injuries anywhere. The droplets of blood lead out of the bathroom. Maybe he hurt himself during the night? I fling the door open and let light seep into the room. My suspicions are confirmed and it is clearly him passed out in bed. I realize that the little trail of blood is leading directly to the bed. I decide that I am better off waking him up, in case he really did hurt himself. Upon further inspection, I realize that there is blood all over the sheets.
This place is starting to look more like a crime scene.
I am officially freaking out.
He is breathing heavily and groaning in his sleep.
I am just about to gently wake him, when I realize that his right arm is physically tied and bound with rope to the bedpost.
What the hell happened last night?
