Regrets
The next day, when Sam woke up in Ramani's bedroom, her thoughts instantly went to Phil and the way she'd rejected him. She could still picture, the sadness in his eyes at her cruelty. That moment stood out from all the other memories of the night. She couldn't really remember much else from the night before. She'd been so upset at her treatment towards Phil, that she went and got totally wrecked. The only other things she could remember were dancing with Mickey, and Kerry and Smithy snogging.
All though Sam didn't know it Phil was as gutted about last night as she was. He'd totally wrecked things with Sam, even if he wasn't sure what 'things' were. To get over her he did what he usually did, and went and slept with a beautiful lady. However it wasn't Cindy- she'd left the party early so he met up with Christine. It had been so long since he'd seen her, but when they'd had sex it was just as amazing as before. Just like they'd never split up. Despite it being amazing, his thoughts were still with a certain petite blonde. He'd watched her getting drunker and drunker. Just to make sure she was OK. He had convinced himself it was through guilt. That he had driven her to drink, and that if anything had happened to her he wouldn't be able to forgive himself. In reality it was different. He watched her, and looked out for her because he cared for her. She was a challenge. Feisty. Independent. Confident. Different from all the other girls- Cindy, Christine, Kate, all of them. But he'd admit this to no-one. Not even himself.
He rolled over, and looked at Christine lying next to him in the bed. Guilt flooded him, and he instantly regretted his actions. From hurting Sam to this. He regretted it all. As he was thinking all this, when he heard a noise from downstairs. He quickly nudged Christine.
'Wake up. Someone's here.' She sat up suddenly and they both heard the door open.
'My parents are away for the week and the only other person with a key is… Dennis!'
Phil jumped off the bed and started getting changed. Christine did the same. They heard his voice calling for her. They heard his steps on the stairs. Heading closer towards them. Phil had just buckled his trousers, and Christine was making the bed when the door opened. There stood Dennis Weaver. The school bully. The knuckle-cracker. The head-banger. And there was, Phil looking dishevelled, his shirt buttoned scruffily. Christine was the same. Her hair was all over the place and her skirt was on backwards. The bed was a mess, and a pair of boxers peeped from under the bed. It didn't take a brain surgeon to work out what had happened, and Dennis was not happy.