A throbbing fucking headache.

That's what I wake up with.

And granted, given as I don't remember half of what the hell went down last night, it's probably for a valid reason. I've come to the conclusion that there's no way I didn't drink David's Mystery Punch, because that shit is intense as hell. And it completely knocked me out.

Once my vision starts to clear a little bit, I prop myself onto my elbows, blinking slowly as I try to recover from whatever the hell happened at David's house last night. The room finally comes into view, and I grab a blue blanket from the bed, about to raise it to my chin when I stop.

A blue blanket.

The blanket falls from my grip, and I start glancing around the room, everything now materializing in front of me. My eyes are practically blinded because everything is so fucking bright in this room. 

The sunlight glows in, the cerulean blue blankets reflect off of it. Where my room is gray, this one's white. White walls, white shelves, a white table.

So goddamn bright.

And after a few moments of pointedly judging the room, shit dawns on me. And the shit that dawns on me is the fact that I'm not in my room.

My eyes widen as I glance around repeatedly. So, this is the moment Ms. Willis has been praying for since I was forced under her care. I've finally been abducted. My time has come. Some creepy fucker has kidnapped me.

This is not Amir's room. Amir's theme is all amber colors. Not whatever this is. And my friend count is limited, so there aren't many options for whose room this could be.

It's while I'm weighing over taking a leap through the nearest window or venturing further into the unknown house that the door opens.

"Who's that?" I snap, because waking up in a different house than I'm used to has never been a good thing. I jump to my feet, arms positioned with my fists clenched in the air. "I'll have you know that I took jiu jitsu lessons till I was eleven."

Now, I won't necessarily say that's all that accurate. That being said, my second foster family did run a martial arts school, and the kids around there were fucking ruthless. They beat the shit out of me more times than I'd care to admit. 

But I got better out of it.

At least, I'd like to think so.

"Yeah, alright." The voice says, and Lucas fucking Garcia makes his way into view, a glass in hand. "Calm down, asshat."

I let my arms slowly fall to my sides, falling down to my bed as Lucas' fingers brush mine for the millionth of a second, and a cold cup cools my hands.

"And a pain reliever." He tosses the small white tablet, and I catch it in my hands, slipping it into my mouth and drowning it down with the water.

"So..." I start, lowering my glass, eyebrows raised at Lucas, a silent question on my lips.

"So," He says, hands slipping into his pockets. "Amir was going to pick you up, but he said that—and I quote— 'I don't want to deal with his drunk ass. I warned that dumbfuck.'"

A snort escapes my lips. Sounds about right. And I'm guessing Amir's parents wouldn't be all too happy to see a drunk me crashing at their place—if they were there at the time, anyway.

"And uh," He says, adjusting the plain white t-shirt that gently hugs his torso, "My parents are out most mornings. So, I decided to just drag you over here to my place."

Just the thought of Lucas' dragging me to his house is enough to make my eyebrows rise. Having to drag me out of the party, shove me into his car, drag me up the stairs, push me into a spare room.

The thought of Lucas pulling that off makes it hard not to smile. Because I don't know how the hell anyone would go through that much effort for anyone. Talk less of me.

Lucas swings his arms gently, stretching them out as he glances over at me. A lopsided but polite smile appears on his lips, slowly inching to the doorway.

"Wait," I say. Because Lucas Garcia went through all that shit for me, and I didn't even deserve it. He comes to a gentle halt, eyes glancing over to mine, curls still running wild on his head.

It takes a lot, but I say, "thank you." The words sound eerily uncomfortable leaving my lips. Definitely not two words I say a lot. Angie would probably say she had no idea the words were in my vocabulary. Me neither.

A half smile curves onto Lucas Garcia's lips. That's his you're welcome.

And I'll take it.

He's gone, and I take in the room for a few more minutes. Maybe not my style, but Lucas Garcia fits into the space. Like it was made for him. The missing piece to an insanely bright jigsaw puzzle.

Thoughts whirl in my mind as a scent wafts into the air. Slightly burned, sweet like syrup. That's really all it takes for me to set the glass aside, pushing off of the bed and making my way through the door, right after Lucas Garcia.

The hall isn't wide, slightly narrow and short. My eyes catch onto the staircase as soon as I step out of the doorway, and I glance around the hall before making my way down the stairs. I'm down in seconds, and my eyes catch onto the dining room.

I slide down onto a chair, mentally cursing at my throbbing head, but slightly relieved that the pain is slowly ebbing away.

Lucas is at the front counter, plucking a slice of toast out of the toaster, dropping it into a plate—one that he hands over to me without blinking.

"I'm gonna get cups." He hums to himself, and I watch him from where I'm seated, raising the toast to my lips and grabbing a bite.

Then he's back at the counter, his back to me. My eyes drift up to him. His white t-shirt is rolled up at his shoulders, a pair of washed-out, slim overalls hanging from his body, one strap is off, and the other is loosely on, showcasing his slender torso.

I blink. Once, twice.

Any objective onlooker might be drawn to him like a magnet.

But I'm not objective, and I'm not an onlooker. And I'd probably be far better off keeping my eyes back on my plate and away from the teenager standing at the front counter, completely oblivious to my eyes on him.

That being said, I don't listen to reason. Not even my own. So I push my chair back, aimlessly wandering towards him. I'm right behind him when I finally come to a screeching halt.

Lucas freezes.

And I do too, because what the fuck am I doing? 

I likely want to say something to him, maybe another thank you, but I can't find the words I want to say, can't put together a sentence to send his way.

I make sure to step back, hand running through my hair, my mind wondering what exactly it is I want to say to him, if I even want to say anything.

Then Lucas turns around, glancing up at me, my hands on either side of the counter. There has to be a confused expression playing on my face, one that Lucas mirrors, both of us analyzing each other with our heads slightly tilted, lips slightly pursed.

And Lucas looks insanely at ease—if not only slightly surprised— even with our current eye contact. Irises meet, breaths simply inhale and exhale.

Lucas' tongue carefully traces over his lips before he shoves a cup into my face, one that I reach out to take, snapping out of my few minutes. 

So, I sidestep Lucas Garcia, and make my way over to the coffee maker, setting up a drink for myself.

Once I'm done, I take note of Lucas seated at the table, his eyes lazily trailing over me as I make my way over to him. I slide into the seat across from him, and we both eat in pure, slightly uncomfortable and slightly comfortable silence.

"Uh..." I start after a few moments, my hands tracing over my exposed chest, slightly tanned torso glinting against the light.

"Did you do this?" I ask slightly disbelievingly, my hand gesturing to my shirtless torso, eyes finding Lucas.

There's a slight mood change as Lucas carries out his diplomatic shrug. "Someone else did that for you."

Shit.

Because if I didn't look like a horny asshole to Lucas before, I definitely look like that to him now. Especially given the fact that I can't even remember who did it.

Lucas scouts the room, grabbing a t-shirt thrown onto the couch before returning to the table and handing it over to me. "Here." 

I take the shirt from him, carefully following his gaze as his eyes fall onto the rose tattoo curving up my chest, now fully visible with no fabric to hide it away.

I pull my shirt overhead, a slight burning stinging at my face. I'm almost afraid he's going to ask about the only piece of color on my body, a deep, gorgeous red. But he doesn't, and I tug my shirt down until the rose is barely visible.

Clearing my throat, I glance at Lucas again. "Who did it?" A pause. "Took my shirt off, I mean."

"Oh," Lucas says, stirring his own coffee, taking a slow sip. "You went off with some guy at the party."

My eyebrows fly upwards, even though this shouldn't be surprising at all. I'm not sure what else to say, so I keep my eyes on Lucas, mind swirling with thoughts.

"Was it fun?" Lucas asks, and his expression is so neutral—so fucking professional— that I almost hate it. Who the hell can ask how good the sex was while looking so official? So professional? So polite? So neutral?

I flip through my memories, trying to supply an answer to Lucas' pointed question, but nothing comes up. It's like studying for a huge midterm and forgetting the answer to a crucial question that you know you studied. Something happened, but I have no idea what.

My mind is blank. I can't remember shit.

And I don't like the fact that I can't remember shit.

Someone touched me, kissed me, got intimate with me in probably the most physical way possible. Yet, I can't remember saying yes. I can't remember his name. And it has to be a he, given the fact that the bruises seem way too intense, and there's no stains of lipgloss anywhere on my body or lips.

But then again, I can't remember jackshit of what happened last night, so it's not like I'd know either way.

Lucas' eyes rest on mine, most likely watching all the anxiety-ridden thoughts travel throughout my mind. He opens his mouth, almost ready to say something when the door opens.

Both of our eyes dart in the direction of the door, and an older guy walks through, darker curls, same olive skin tone as Lucas and speckled brown eyes darting about the room. He glances over at me before glancing over at Lucas, jersey hanging from his body as he walks into the space.

In quick Spanish, the two essentially shoot comments back and forth, the guy running a hand through his hair with Lucas' final answer.

His brother easily shifts into English, rolling his arms back as if stretching. "They're not here?" He asks, arms outstretched, highlighting clear differences between Lucas and him. Like the fact that where Lucas is slender, this guy has more prominent biceps and muscles. 

And undoubtedly, I'm guessing the guy is his brother, given the sibling banter, half of which is in Spanish, the other half with sprinkles of English thrown in.

"Shit, man. I needed to tell them about my football game tonight." Lucas' brother says, dropping his duffel bag on the floor.

I subtly catch Lucas roll his eyes. "They'll be back soon, Luis."

"All the same to me. Me da igual." Luis says, his shoulders shrugging easily as he makes his way over to the fridge, rummaging through the options. After a few moments of rummaging, he lets out a loud curse. "It's all leftovers."

He turns around before freezing as if noticing me for the first time. His eyes widen, a pointer finger jutting in my direction as he glances over at his brother.

"Es tu novio?" He asks, jutting a head in my direction, lowering his voice and reverting back to Spanish because I'm sure he can easily tell that I'm a monolingual fucker who hasn't learned shit from Spanish class.

Lucas who's already on his feet makes sure to give his brother a shove, causing the athlete to barely budge. "Shut up, Luis."

"Cálmate. Goddamn." He says, an easy jock-like grin curving onto his lips as he snatches a burger out of the fridge. 

He sends a nod to me, turning to Lucas as he waves the McDonald's box in the air. "Valeria won't mind, right?"

Lucas shrugs, eyeing his brother and the container in his hand. "If you don't mind being skinned alive then go ahead and take it."

Luis takes a few glances back and forth between the container and the fridge, as if mentally weight the possibilities of either risking his life or resisting a nice burger.

After a few seconds, Luis quickly returns the container to the fridge, muttering to himself, "No vale la pena."

"Alright, see you guys." Luis says, giving a lazy salute to his brother, in which I vaguely catch the word chiquito leave his teasing lips as he ruffles Lucas' hair, Lucas quickly returning the gesture with a swift kick in his brother's shins.

The door shuts behind him, and I glance over at Lucas, who's back to eating all politely, composure returned, despite the fact that he'd easily lost it once his brother arrived.

"What'd he say?" I ask, draining the last drops of liquid from my cup, eyes finding Lucas.

Lucas doesn't reply before shrugging. "Learn Spanish."

I give him a deadpanned expression, one that he returns with a grin. Then, I shrug. "Your brother seems alright."

"Yeah," Lucas gives me a thin grin. "Luis is pretty well-loved around here."

With that, the conversation comes to a quick end, and I spend the rest of my time analyzing Lucas, the way he seems invested into his food again, the way one hand scrolls through his phone with a passive expression on his features.

"Hey," He says, speckled eyes rising to mine. "I want to head over to the drama department and flip over scripts."

"During the weekend?" I ask, leaning back in my seat. Lucas scrunches his eyebrows as if asking: why the hell wouldn't I? Which only furthers my firm belief that Lucas and I are completely and utterly different in a variety of different ways.

"Wanna come with?" He asks, rising to his feet, using his fingers to comb through his hair.

"I mean, yeah. Sure." I say, mirroring his motions, watching where he puts the plates into the sink and following his movements.

"So," Lucas says at the doorway. "Luis took the car, so we're going to have to walk. Are you cool with that?" Lucas asks as we step out onto the front porch, sunlight greeting us.

I give him a half smile of my own. Because here's Lucas Garcia, treating me like I'm part of his team, like he didn't have to take care of my sorry drunk ass the other day, like we didn't have an intense moment just a few minutes ago.

"I'm cool with that." I say, and that Lucas fucking Garcia grin makes a glowing reappearance.

***

this chapter makes me happy :,) and i don't know why