Take Me Away To Paradise..., chapter 2
I awoke, my head pounding with an unbearable pain. Sunlight streamed in through the bedroom windows. If I looked at the light, my eyes hurt like hell. This was the worst hangover I'd ever had. Well, it was until I remembered all of the events last night—or what I could remember—and I began to wonder if it was real. To my right, there was no longer anybody lying there, but this sure as hell wasn't my apartment...
I crawled out of the bed and examined my face in the mirror. My mascara had thankfully remained in contact, but my lipstick was smeared. I grabbed a tissue and managed to wipe most of it off. My hair was another issue. I didn't have a brush on me, and I didn't expect to find one in Billie Joe Armstrong's bedroom (assuming that's where I was), so I ran my fingers through my it in attempt to get through the knots and tangles in my long hazel-brown hair.
Finally, when I decided my appearance was fair enough, I opened the door very quietly and slipped into the living room/kitchen of the apartment. It was the pest place I'd ever seen. In one area of the living room were guitars—lots of them—and a piano. There was a big desk with papers all over the place. Opposite those was a couch and a flat-screen TV. As for the kitchen... it was unlike anything I'd ever seen (at least, much better than my boring kitchen in my apartment). All the appliances were stainless steel, the Sub-Zero kind. The counters had smooth marble tops, except the marble was black and, instead of white, all different colors. It was like black and rainbow marble.
And there was a huge window overlooking Berkley and San Francisco. The view was amazing. While I was standing there, gaping at how great the place was, I barley noticed him standing nearby, flipping pancakes on the stove. When I did see him, though, I practically fainted.
"Hey, you're up," He grinned. He was standing in an over-sized Led Zeppelin T-shirt and boxers. I guess he'd changed this morning from his previous outfit of last night... which, come to think of it, I didn't really know what he was wearing.
"Oh my God... did that... did last night happen?" I muttered, sitting down. I put my forehead in my hands and rubbed my temples, attempting to make the horrible throbbing in my head go away. I wondered where my friends thought I was.
"Yeah... I guess so," He said. He didn't laugh though, as I was half-expecting him to. "Pancakes?" He offered. I shook my head. "No thanks... you got coffee?"
"Hell yeah. Can't live without the black stuff." I laughed. I glanced at my watch, seeing I'd be late for work—but this time I didn't really care. "Milk and sugar, please," I added. He smiled. I bet my friends were wondering where the hell I was.
I downed the coffee he put in front of me, feeling in need of some caffeine. My mind was swirling—what would happen? What was going to happen? I coughed uncomfortably and shifted in my seat. He studied his coffee. "Well, I... I should probably get going... " I said quietly.
"Maybe we could... get together some time? Do something?" His emerald eyes locked onto mine and I felt my heart skip a beat. "Uh... well... um... yeah, sure," I managed. He flashed a smile again and my heart did that skippy thing again. I dug around in my pocket for a piece of paper and scribbled my number on it, hoping he wouldn't see my hand shaking.
He took the paper and shot me his heart-melting grin. I found myself standing—standing, that is, without collapsing altogether—and heading towards the door. "Bye. See you later." He said. And then I walked out of the apartment—and that was that.
But I had a feeling it was far from over.
I crawled out of the bed and examined my face in the mirror. My mascara had thankfully remained in contact, but my lipstick was smeared. I grabbed a tissue and managed to wipe most of it off. My hair was another issue. I didn't have a brush on me, and I didn't expect to find one in Billie Joe Armstrong's bedroom (assuming that's where I was), so I ran my fingers through my it in attempt to get through the knots and tangles in my long hazel-brown hair.
Finally, when I decided my appearance was fair enough, I opened the door very quietly and slipped into the living room/kitchen of the apartment. It was the pest place I'd ever seen. In one area of the living room were guitars—lots of them—and a piano. There was a big desk with papers all over the place. Opposite those was a couch and a flat-screen TV. As for the kitchen... it was unlike anything I'd ever seen (at least, much better than my boring kitchen in my apartment). All the appliances were stainless steel, the Sub-Zero kind. The counters had smooth marble tops, except the marble was black and, instead of white, all different colors. It was like black and rainbow marble.
And there was a huge window overlooking Berkley and San Francisco. The view was amazing. While I was standing there, gaping at how great the place was, I barley noticed him standing nearby, flipping pancakes on the stove. When I did see him, though, I practically fainted.
"Hey, you're up," He grinned. He was standing in an over-sized Led Zeppelin T-shirt and boxers. I guess he'd changed this morning from his previous outfit of last night... which, come to think of it, I didn't really know what he was wearing.
"Oh my God... did that... did last night happen?" I muttered, sitting down. I put my forehead in my hands and rubbed my temples, attempting to make the horrible throbbing in my head go away. I wondered where my friends thought I was.
"Yeah... I guess so," He said. He didn't laugh though, as I was half-expecting him to. "Pancakes?" He offered. I shook my head. "No thanks... you got coffee?"
"Hell yeah. Can't live without the black stuff." I laughed. I glanced at my watch, seeing I'd be late for work—but this time I didn't really care. "Milk and sugar, please," I added. He smiled. I bet my friends were wondering where the hell I was.
I downed the coffee he put in front of me, feeling in need of some caffeine. My mind was swirling—what would happen? What was going to happen? I coughed uncomfortably and shifted in my seat. He studied his coffee. "Well, I... I should probably get going... " I said quietly.
"Maybe we could... get together some time? Do something?" His emerald eyes locked onto mine and I felt my heart skip a beat. "Uh... well... um... yeah, sure," I managed. He flashed a smile again and my heart did that skippy thing again. I dug around in my pocket for a piece of paper and scribbled my number on it, hoping he wouldn't see my hand shaking.
He took the paper and shot me his heart-melting grin. I found myself standing—standing, that is, without collapsing altogether—and heading towards the door. "Bye. See you later." He said. And then I walked out of the apartment—and that was that.
But I had a feeling it was far from over.
