A/N - So yeah, I've tried not to start anything new but it seems that until I got this off my chest, my brain wouldn't let me write anything else so here it is. Hope I haven't spooked you too much with this opener, haha. Remember, things aren't always what they seem lol. Strap in for the ride folks. Enjoy...
The blinding light of the sun easily penetrated the tall glass window of the hotel room. The curtains hadn't been drawn the night before. Clothes lay scattered across the floor; a red tie hanging off the back of a chair, a skirt, scrunched and kicked to the side of the bed. Paul Levesque slowly opened his bleary eyes. The air was hot and thick, causing the sheets to stick to his clammy skin. His head was spinning dangerously and he closed his eyes, desperately needing a moment to let his stomach settle from his slight movements. It didn't work. He began to sweat, tiny drops slipping from his forehead and in an instant, his stomach lurched. He was going to be sick.
Paul swallowed the horrible lump back down his throat and threw the covers off. The hot air clung to his body as he staggered to the bathroom and emptied his guts in a retching, heaving mess. His hands were shaking when they grasped the toilet bowl and he was breathing heavily, his lungs desperate for fresh air. Air con. He needed to turn it on before he melted. Confident that he wasn't going to throw up again, he uneasily got to his feet and caught his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot with heavy bags underneath them while his skin was a sickly pale colour. What the hell had happened to him? His still shaking hands reached out and turned on the faucet to throw some cold water onto his face. It hit him like a ton of bricks and he inhaled sharply, the cool water shocking his senses. Letting the water drip from his face, his eyes darted around the tiny bathroom and immediately narrowed in confusion. He didn't recognize anything in here. In fact, there was nothing in there at all apart from the standard hotel amenities. Now that he thought about it, what was he even doing here and why the hell did he feel like a sack of shit? Had he been drinking? If he had he must have drank enough to sink a ship because he couldn't ever remember feeling like this in his life. The room was slowly spinning as he walked back into the main area and frowned at the sight before him. It was a complete mess with clothes strewn all over the room and empty bottles littering all the tables. Fuck. He had been drinking. His eyes were drawn to what appeared to be a thong hanging off the end of one of the bottles next to him. The silk was soft against his fingertips as he held it in his hands and looked at it with a frown on his face. He didn't recognize this. In fact, this entire scenario felt very wrong to him. He didn't even know what fucking day it was nor why was he in a hotel room having very clearly gotten piss face drunk the night before?
It was then that he noticed the feet poking out of the bottom of the white sheets. He cautiously walked towards the bed, his stomach once against in knots as an uncomfortable sensation gripped his entire body. He tugged the top of the blanket down as softly as he could and immediately felt sick again at the sight before him. A woman was lying face down in the pillows, her shoulders rising and falling with every deep breath but Paul didn't need to see her face to know what he had done. The woman was blonde. The woman wasn't his wife.