Pain.
That's the first thing my jumbled up self registers. You ever felt like your brain melted and a tiny chef was stirring it inside your skull with a fucking wooden spoon? Imagine that three million times worse, and you will have a vague idea of how I was feeling in that exact moment.
Yep. That's how my morning was being like. Awesome, isn't it? Not that I can complain much, last night was a total blast. Alcohol is always fun, double the fun when accompanied by a lovely lady. What was her name again? Cindy? Cynthia? It's hard to remember when your head turned into a steaming pot of disgusting soup.
I roll on my back, and that immediately turns out to be a mistake. As soon as I move, I feel thin arms wrapping around my torso and keeping me in place, like a giant hot pillow. Oh, fuck. Looks like Cindy is a hugger.
Now that I am fairly awake, it's easier to make sense of the external stimuli. The walls are white, the sheets are clean, there's a hint of lavender in the air- and I hate lavender... How come I didn't realize sooner that I was not in my crappy hotel room?
Oh, right. The brain soup.
So yeah, looks like somebody got lucky last night. Sandra (nope, that's not her name) is a gorgeous woman. Blonde, blue eyes, breasts soft like a pile of fresh snow and legs for days. Beauty-wise, easily in a supermodel level. But so vanilla. If vanilla was a person, it would be our dear Cynthia right here. Meet Cynthia: plain, boring, sweet and sticky vanilla.
On normal circumstances, I would definitely not have spent the night. Damn you, Little Chef and your specialty soup! Thanks to you, I now have a naked woman spooning me. And let me tell you one thing: no hot woman is worth the trouble. Especially no vanilla hot woman.
You see, I don't mind waking up beside a human whose name I barely remember. When I play my cards right, I get to have a little bit of fun before being kicked out of wherever I spent the night at. And I usually play my cards right. What I don't like is Miss Legs with her limbs around me smiling affectionately on her peaceful sleep.
Dear C—I'm pretty sure her name started with a C—, here's a life tip from Uncle Jack, listen closely: you don't cuddle a man you met the night before. Cuddling is for couples pretending to be so desperately in love that they can't keep their hands off each other. Not, and I repeat, NOT for the times when you get laid—doesn't matter how good it was, honey—and the guy accidentally spends the night with you. Especially when your partner could've easily been any other random guy who just so happened to be in the same bar as you.
Poor, poor Vanilla Cindy. I sincerely hope that you find your knight in shining armor, because I don't think this type of game is suited for you. I honestly don't know what made you let me in your apartment last night, let alone in your va-jay-jay. Maybe I'm that good, and if it's the case, I should apologize. But seriously, honey, you gotta toughen up, otherwise you will get hurt over and over again by the jerks out there. Jerks just like the one you're cuddling right now.
When the tiny chef takes a break from the soup-making, I decide it's time to get off the bed. I go around the room scavenging my clothes, and Cindy finally wakes up.
"What are you doing?" she asks wrapping the sheets around her body. Her English has a heavy accent that in another circumstances would be hot as fuck.
"Putting my clothes on," I say with my back to her. "Don't mind me and go back to sleep, darling."
"Why don't I make us some breakfast—"
"Don't think so," I cut her off while I put my shoes on. "I'm leaving."
Cindy remains silent. I think I embarrassed her. She puts on her robe and follows me to the front door, probably out of politeness. Before leaving, I smile leaning against the door frame. "Thanks for the fun."
One wink and a beautiful crimson shade colors her face. And I'm out of there before she can get the wrong idea and ask for anything else. Goddamn, Jack. Stop thinking with your other head.
You know what a bad thing about me is? I think I give people too much hope sometimes. My charming smile and generally likable personality can be deceiving, whether I'm trying or not... Oh, well. Not really my problem. They should learn not to trust bastards like me. It's probably an evolution matter: humanity would be eons ahead if my kind was eradicated.
On the way back to my hotel, I buy a cheap coffee from a street vendor, and it tastes like old gym socks. Gross, but even if low quality, it's still caffeine, and I'm not gonna waste any of it. Besides, it's probably not the coffee's fault. Whatever concoction the tiny chef was working on, probably fucked up my taste buds as well.
Around me, city is already in full swing. Grumpy businessmen going to work, tables being lined on the streets, tourists taking selfies with every single little thing… Oh Paris, city of some of the greatest legacies to human culture. Also city of some of the most stuck up assholes in the world. What a beautifully depressing little place.
Back to the hotel, the receptionist calls me.
"A gentleman has been waiting to talk to you," the guy says in French.
Well, that's odd. I can't think of a single person who would ambush me in my hotel in the entire country, mostly because I didn't make my accommodations public information.
"Who?"
"Me," a deep voice says from behind me, and I hiss.
I turn on my heels to glare at him, and it's kind of embarrassing that I still have to raise my head to look him in the eyes. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
He narrows his eyes. I think I pissed him off. Hey, just like old times, huh? "Is that any way to talk to your uncle?" Before he's finished, I'm already heading for the stairs.
It shouldn't be a surprise that he follows me.
"I'm here to take you home," he says, and I have to roll my eyes.
"I'm on vacation, North. How did you find me anyway?" As I let the words out of my mouth, my beautiful soup of a brain figures out the answer to the question. "Don't tell me. Hiccup."
"He's worried about you. And so am I."
"You two need hobbies."
"Where were you? I've been waiting for you all night."
"Do you really wanna know that?" I ask with a smirk. North had to live with me for years. He knows I ain't no saint.
He sighs. "Never mind."
I enter my room, and because slamming the door on his face would give me at least three hours of lecture about proper behavior and manners, I let the big man in.
I fall on the bed and bury my face in the old pillows in hopes that North will take the hint and leave me alone. He doesn't.
"I have two plane tickets back to New Burgess leaving this afternoon," he says.
"Good for you," I mumble with my face glued to the pillow.
"You are coming with me."
I lift my upper body from the mattress so I can glare at him with all my might. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm on vacation."
"You call this a vacation?" He laughs throwing his head back. "Please. You're living in a rickety hotel room that looks like a murder location from a lousy horror movie. You're unemployed, you have no money, and you haven't contacted me nor your friends in months."
"I have money. From my last book."
"Need I remind you that your mail goes straight to my apartment? You're in the red, Jack."
Okay, so maybe I kinda crossed my budget limit a little bit. It's not my fault, though. Buying drinks for the ladies can get pricey. And I'm still human, I have bodily necessities to attend to.
North walks to my side and puts a hand on my shoulder. "What are you running from, son?"
"I'm not running from anything!" I say pushing his hand away from me. "Since when is it illegal to have some fun, huh?"
He keeps looking at me, and you don't need to be a genius to see the sadness in his eyes. He's disappointed in me. And even if I'm a self-centred asshole, that kinda stings. Oh, look: it's my old friend Morality. Where have you been, buddy? Can't say that I missed you. Do you mind coming back later? Tiny Chef is still working, and I can only deal with one visitor at a time.
"Very well," he says taking a step back. He pulls out a yellow envelope and put it on the nightstand. "The plane leaves at six. It's your choice whether you come or not."
And with that, he leaves. I keep glaring at the closed door as his heavy footsteps echo down the corridor. To think that he came all the way here to this decadent city just for a pep talk… Somebody sure has a lot of free time on his hands, doesn't he?
I look down at the nightstand and that fucking yellow envelope is mocking me. Screw you, North, and your messed up manipulation games. Choice or no choice, you only gave me one option and you know it.
With a groan, I let myself fall on the mattress again. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Getting on a plane with my melted brain will be a terrific experience. Woohoo, can't wait for that.
Beware, New Burgess. Jack Frost is coming back.
A writing experiment I wanted to try. This is the beginning of a plot I'd like to develop into a multi-chapter story. All things will be explained there (I hope). I added this to the RisexFrozen section because the multi-chap will be Jelsa centered.
BTW, that's Cinderella.