Maybe I really was too drunk. When I tried to get up, my head felt heavy and light at the same time, and I ended up collapsing against him.
He smelled like my shower gel, which I liked.
Somehow, in my foggy state, I ended up underneath him.
He called my name, "Viola," in that low, raspy voice.
As the pain started to hit, I thought I heard someone whisper in my ear, "He betrayed you. Let me help you get back at him… sister."
It was an absurd thing to say, with no real basis, but at that moment, I was lost in the sound of him calling me "sister."
He was young, rough, and unrefined, with no real technique.
The next morning, I woke up with a pounding headache, and as the memories of the previous night came rushing back, I was paralyzed with shock.
Did I really… sleep with my best friend’s brother?
He’s in college, so he must be… an adult now, right?
I grabbed my hair in frustration, overwhelmed with self-recrimination.
I couldn’t face my best friend, and I definitely didn’t dare to face Eason.
I strained to listen for any sign of Eason, and once I was sure he wasn’t in the room, I cautiously peeked through the door crack.
After quickly gathering my things, I made a hasty exit to work.
“Sister.”