"Ohhh my heeeaaad..." Monica groans from the bed.

"I've been there." I call out from the kitchen knowing exactly what that feeling is like.

At the sound of my voice she sits up abruptly from the bed looking completely freaked out. I lean against the counter top, crossing my arms over my chest as I study her. Monica looks dazed and confused.

"Sean?" She looks at me with squinting eyes and I can practically see the gears slowly starting to turn in her brain. "How'd I get here? What am I doing here?"

I feel her pain, I really do. I know what it's like to black out and not remember the previous nights events. Although, Trevor is usually the one telling me what insanity I took part in the previous night and I usually blackout on purpose. I sigh, "What's the last thing you remember?"

She pauses for a moment, looking at nothing in particular. That's when I can tell she remembers something because her eyes are now as wide as saucers. Now she's looking at me as if I were the devil himself and I know she's remembering my little episode at the club. She jumps out of the bed, which completely surprises me, looking like she's going to sprint for the door.

"He deserved it." And I may have not known it at the time but he more than deserved it.

"You're crazy!" She yells "Jesus Christ." She puts both hands on the side of her face. "You're totally insane, completely bat-shit crazy. I can't believe what you did to him."

She's not entirely wrong... "Keep thinking, sweetheart."

"I..." She begins recollecting "I can't remember really. I just... we were outside, then your truck..." Monica face palms herself and I know it's all coming back to her now. Then it all definitely clicks because she starts crying.

I hate when people cry and that's because I have no idea what to do. I suck when it comes to handling any kind of emotional situation. Thankfully, after a few moments, she collects herself and looks back at me. "Thank you for taking care of me." She murmurs.

I nod instead of saying anything because I am suddenly even more uncomfortable. I spent my entire night and day looking after her, even lying next to her at one point. I didn't want her dreams laced with any more sadness and the only way she finally stopped pouting for good was when I was on the bed with her. I made sure I was the farthest thing away from her and made sure I didn't sleep, but it was more than I'd ever given to anyone willingly and without being completely black out drunk.

"I got some breakfast." I hold up a bag from Dunkies. "Figured you'd be hungry when you woke up."

She stares at the bag in my hand then quirks a brow at me. "You, asshole-of-the-year, went out and got breakfast?"

"Yes, the best-looking asshole-of-the-year went out and got breakfast." I smirk at her which only results in a hearty eye roll.

She looks at me and then looks at the door as if she's contemplating something. Most likely contemplating whether or not to fucking run for dear life or not and I don't blame her. Getting as far away from me is most definitely in her best interest. She lets out an overexerted breath of air before shaking her head and walking up to me.

She grabs one of the bagels out of the bag, eyeing it cautiously before taking a bite. She should've probably fucking done that last night with the questionable drinks dumb-blonde-fuck was giving her, but I digress.

"What time is it?" She asks as she glances around the dark apartment.

" It's six pm." I tear open my own wrapper and take a hearty bite.

"So, this is dinner then." She says around a mouthful of bagel.

I shrug, "Not for you considering you're just waking up."

"I feel like such an idiot."

"You should." Probably not the best time to be my blunt self but I can't help it.

Monica looks up at me and grits her jaw. She's glaring at me like she wants to say something sassy but thinks better of it. She knows that I would win a battle of words for sure right now. Her brain is most likely still a partial muddled mess. I'm chuckling inside because she's got on this little pouty face that is just too fucking cute right now.

Too fucking cute? My brain is malfunctioning again.

We finish our food in silence, just standing there awkwardly, not knowing what to say to each other. She asks me for water and I pour her a glass which she chugs like a college student with a beer at a frat party.

"Thanks for the meal, and uh, everything else." She gestures offhandedly. "I don't know what I would've done if, well..."

I give her a curt nod. "Don't worry about it." I grab our wrappers, turn and toss them into the trash can.

When I turn back around she's right there, too close. I stand there, stock still, as she gets up on her toes and kisses me slowly on the cheek. Her lips linger there and to my surprise my inner demons aren't raging. I relax, but only slightly. Monica doesn't say anything as she pulls away from me. She smiles softly up at me. I don't return it, I'm honestly frozen and at a loss for words.

This is me and my big mouth not knowing what to say for the first time in my life.

She turns, gathers her things and makes her way out of my apartment. She doesn't say anything. There were no words shared after that mind-boggling exchange. I'm just left standing here in the kitchen staring after her like an idiot.

I brace myself. Maybe there will be a delayed impact? I wait for it, but nothing. I touch my face where her lips had been, feeling the skin there. It slightly burns but it's not a searing panic-inducing burn.

This is completely new to me and it's also a bit nerve-wracking. That's okay though, I know how to dull the nerves. I turn around and grabbed the vodka off the counter. I pour myself a tumbler and begin the numbing process.

-&-

It's now nearly midnight and I've done a pretty decent amount of damage on the bottle in my hands. I'd made myself a mixed drink after Monica left but after the first one I'd thought fuck it and drank straight from the bottle. My mind continues to circle around all of the events that have taken place in the last forty-eight hours or so. But even the vodka can't cancel out some of the things that have been singeing my mind.

Something is seriously fucking wrong with me and that something is the girl across the hall. It's Monica. Monica fucking Cavalieri. I had pummeled a man because of her and as much as I'd like to say it's because of what he did to her it's not something I'd known when I'd thrown my fists into his face. I mean, yeah, volatile behavior is kind of my thing but never because of someone, never for them.

Even if I forget about that little incident it doesn't change the fact that I had laid in bed next to her. I had comforted her. She had kissed me affectionately and I hadn't felt like fire ants were crawling under or all over my skin. That's not normal, well, not for me.

I place my head in my hands and blow out a long frustrated breath. This situation, or whatever the fuck is going on between us, is wreaking havoc on my system like a terminal disease. It's like a cancer, you think you get rid of it, go into remission, just for it to keep fucking coming back.

I begin to stand, sliding my back slowly up the wall because my drunken ass was sitting on the floor. I place the nearly half-empty bottle of Tito's on the kitchen table and stare at my door in contemplation. We can't keep doing this. I can't keep doing this.

I have every intention of going over there and telling her to leave me the fuck alone. I need to make it clear that I don't need anyone else fucking with my skull. The damn thing has already been fucked with more than enough.

I tear open my door angrily and take a few steps before letting my fist pound on her door. My foot taps impatiently as I wait for her to answer. When she finally opens the damn thing, I forget the entire reason that I am even here to begin with.

"Sean?" Her perfect mouth questions but I don't reply.

I just study her from head to toe, looking at her, my so-called disease. She's in a tank and shorts, if you can even call them that. Those things are way too skimpy to even be called shorts. Her thick, wavy hair is damp and lying over one of her shoulders, caressing the soft skin there. She's beautiful. So fucking beautiful.

My dead heart palpitates inside of my chest almost painfully when she looks up at me, biting that voluptuous bottom lip of hers. I want her so bad it hurts. It hurts. I can't help but reach out towards her, she's a vice, my vice. One of the many things that are my continual downfall.