My head hurt, and I woke up to a sudden sound of water running. I tried ignoring it, but my throat felt like sandpaper. I felt too hot. A groan slipped through as I sat up on the bed, still a little dizzy. I checked my surroundings and vague flashes of the things happening to me zoomed in my mind. The room looked familiar, almost like I had been there before. But the moment my eyes fell on the paintings adorning the walls, I remembered it was the same room I mysteriously found myself in at the last party.

I panicked. Who wouldn't? I was unconscious for god knows how many hours and then found myself in a room very much aware that there was someone inside the bathroom. I quickly collected my senses and pulled off the sheet. Thank god! I was fully dressed. The moment my feet touched the cold floor, the door opened, and I froze in my position as Jake walked out in only his black jeans. He was rolling a white bandage on his bruised knuckles, but his eyes were on me.

"You are finally up, sleeping beauty. I thought only a true love's kiss could wake you up." he mocked. My eyes traveled down his tattooed torso, and once again, I felt a burning sensation the way his toned muscles flexed as he walked. Snap out of it! I cursed under my breath.

"How did I end up here?" I gave him a frown restricting my eyes on his face. "And where's your t-shirt? Oh god! You pervert. Did you take advantage of me while I was unconscious?"

"Relax!" he said lazily, still struggling to put on the bandages. "You fainted, remember. And some asshole spilled his drink on my t-shirt, so I had to throw them away for laundry. And for the record, I have zero interest in you. You are not my type."

Ouch! that sounded harsh, and for some reason, his confession hurt me.

"You aren't my type either," I mumbled. "And since I am so much of a burden to you, I should leave your company sooner."

I still felt a little light-headed, and the loud music blasting outside proved that the party wasn't over yet. My eyes fell on the clock, which showed 1:00 am, meaning I had a chance of going back to my room to sleep the night off. Anything was better than being close to Jake and embarrass me even further. I glared at him one last time and got on my feet, only to stumble back due to the wooziness. Great, the alcohol in my blood had not yet worn out.

Jake walked towards me, and once again, I supported myself in his hands. He threw the bandage roll on the bed. His hold was gentle. As if it could bruise me if he held any tighter. He sat me back on the bed and handed me the glass of water kept on the nightstand.

"Amy, you don't look good. Why don't you rest here for a bit, yeah?" his voice was unpredictably soft. He tucked my loose strands behind my ear ever so softly as I drank all of the water in one go. My eyes found their way back to his black orbs, and the gentle gaze mesmerized me beyond any measure. Who was this new person?

"Did you bring me to this room last time?" I had to ask him.

"Yes, apparently, you have a habit of passing out at the parties." He said smugly, retreating his hand. I already missed his warmth.

"I didn't pass out last time. I was sleeping in Xavier's room." I frowned, placing the empty glass back in its place.

"Of course, on the floor, while keeping the door unlocked." he chuckled lightly, and my eyes fell on his knuckles, which looked painfully sore. I fiddled, keeping my hands in my lap. I had a sudden urge to caress them and then patch them up. The sight of wounds makes me uncomfortable.

"Jess said no one enters that room without Xavier's permission." My voice was low as my attention shifted from his knuckles to the roll of bandage on the bed.

"And you think drunk people need permission to enter a room. Aren't you too innocent?" He said, bringing his face a little closer to mine. I didn't move away. Only if he knew I was anything but innocent.

"Did he hurt you?" His voice was low. "I mean Chris. Did he hurt you?" My questioning look urged him to clarify himself.

His words pushed me back into the time when Chris tried to kiss me forcefully. The way his hands held me captive and the way I felt so small in front of him made me tear up once again. And before I could think anything else, fat tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn't want to look vulnerable or weak in front of Jake, but maybe it was his gentleness that made me put down my guards.

"He might have," I said shakily, wiping my tears with the back of my hands. "He tried to kiss me, and that was supposed to be my first kiss. I didn't want my first kiss to be the forced one."

"How come you've never kissed anyone before," his voice had a hint of surprise and a sense of tease.

I fiddled with my fingers, already feeling uncomfortable about revealing my boring romance life. "Never had any serious relationship," I mumbled, nibbling on my bottom lip out of habit.

"I'm not surprised," he laughed. "But believe me, you don't need a serious relationship to kiss someone."

"Easy for you to say," I glared right back. Jake's obnoxious laugh almost made me forget I was crying a moment before. Instead, my attention was back to his naked torso, the patterns of his tattoos, and the crinkles of his eyes as he laughed smugly. And without giving much thought, I held his bloody knuckles looking into his eyes. His laugh died off the moment my hands touched his skin. Up until then, I didn't know I had that effect on him. It somehow made me proud.

"What do you think you're doing?" He asked in a soft voice.

I reached out for the bandage lying on the bed and waved it in front of his eyes. "Your wound looks kind of bad. If you don't treat them now, they may get infected. Also, do you have another gauze roll?"

He nodded his head lightly, still looking a little shocked. "It's in the bathroom. I will bring them here." He quickly pulled away from my hold as he made his way towards the bathroom.

My eyes were still on his retreating back as I tried processing the unevenness of actions. Why my skin tingled every single time I touched him? Why the hell was I concerned about his wounds? It was alcohol in my blood. It had to be the alcohol. My head started spinning again a little, and I felt like throwing up. I held the edge of the bed tightly for support, but something came in contact with my fingers. My gaze shifted towards my hand, and I found something peeking from under the mattress. It looked like some notebook. Why would someone keep a notebook hidden? Unless it's his secret diary.

Curiosity had the best of me, and I pulled the notebook out only that it wasn't one. Instead, it was a sketchbook. I skimmed through the first few pages, which outlined the most beautiful portraits. There were so many sketches, a new one on each page, and I wanted to bask in their artistic patterns until my eyes locked with one in particular. It was just a set of eyes, the most mesmerizing one. The way artist had poured so much passion and love into recreating the details of those hazel-colored eyes had me captivated. But before I could fully capture it in my eyes, the sketchbook was pulled away harshly from my hands.

"Why are you going through my things?" He frowned, handing me the first aid box.

"No, I wasn't. I just-Sorry," I said softly, looking down. It probably wasn't a good idea to go through Jake's sketchbook. But as they say, curiosity kills the cat. Jake wasn't going to kill me, was he? Jake's sketchbook, was it his sketchbook? I was still curious about that.

He walked over to his dresser and shoved the sketchbook inside. I could sense his coldness coming back as he made his way back towards me.

"Was it yours?" I finally asked.

"Yes," he said flatly.

"So, you draw?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose and ran a hand through his hair. "I used to, not anymore. Can you stop your little inquisition? I thought you wanted to patch up my wound."

My hold tightened around the first aid box. I so much wanted to throw it and storm out of the room, but it would be so unlike me. After all, Jake's knuckle didn't look any better, and his distraught expression made me stay.

"Sure," I said softly, sitting on the bed cross-legged, and gestured him to sit as well.

He sighed and sat, facing me. I dabbed a little disinfectant on the cotton and stretched my other hand towards him. As if it wasn't already awkward, he looked at me with a puzzled expression.

"Your hand," I looked towards his bruised knuckles.

"Yeah, sorry," his voice sounded a little hesitant. Was he Jake?

He placed his hand gently on mine, and for some reason, it felt so natural. As if he was the guy whose touch I wanted to avoid at all cost. He hissed a little as I cleaned his wound. Not paying much mind, I brought his knuckles close to my lips and blew some hot air on his bruises. His hands tightened around mine, and I looked up to meet his eyes. There were a lot of unreadable expressions hidden underneath those black orbs that I wanted to uncover. I wrapped the bandage around his knuckle carefully, making sure it was very tight. All this while, his soft eyes were fixed on mine. And I was very much aware of my erratic heartbeat.

My eyes suddenly found their way towards the tattoo on his neck. The urge to trace the pattern through my fingers was back, and I knew that was my only chance. I looked into his eyes and then at his neck. He took hold of my sweaty hands and placed them on his neck as if he sensed my desire. His skin was smooth under my touch, just as I imagined. I ran my trembling fingers through his milky white skin, and it felt so exotic and exciting at the same time. My heart thumped wildly underneath my ribs, and my entire body was on fire. I wanted to dive deeper into that feeling, and I still had the alcohol to blame it on.

"Amy!" He husked in a low voice, and unconsciously I leaned closer. He took a sharp breath as my gaze shifted between his eyes and his lips. My mind had already lost all the logic, so I did what I was dreading to do. I inched closer, and his minty warm breath fanning my lips had me lose my mind completely. The compulsion to feel his lips on mine made me close my eyes and place my lips gently on his. I could feel his lips part but the kiss I was dreading so much never happened. The very next moment, his warmth slipped away from me as he jerked away from my touch abruptly.

My eyes followed him as he stood up from his place and looked in the opposite direction. His head was down, and somehow he seemed more interested in looking at the floor. The way he pulled away from me; pained my pride or heart.

"I-I can't. You're not in your rightful mind," he said in a strained voice, still not facing me. His words felt like someone punched me in the guts hard. The realization of my immoral action hit me like a truck. It wasn't something I could ever do in my rightful mind. Jake was right.

What was happening to me? How did I end up in that situation?