No Reservations: Ryan's Version (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 15

2016

It was the morning after . . .

Apparently, during the night, someone had set up a drum-kit inside my head and was currently using it as a rehearsal space . . . And they were not good at drumming. I was dehydrated. My throat ached. There was a vile taste in my mouth.

I finally attempted to open my eyes. They felt sticky and sore and, much to my surprise, my vision was perfect.

Which, of course meant I'd slept in my contacts.

Fuck.

I closed my eyes again. I'd deal with that issue in a few minutes, once the room stopped spinning. Right now, it seemed that someone had placed my bed on a fairground waltzer, once again probably in the middle of the night. Presumably the same trickster who was still tunelessly banging their drumsticks against my brain.

I tried to piece my memories of the previous evening together. There had been beer, followed by whisky. Copious amounts of the latter.

Singing. Not my own, luckily for everyone else. There must have been a band playing.

Talking. That had been me, I remembered, cringing. I'm pretty sure some random old man sitting next to me at the bar had been given a not-so-potted history of Iona and Ryan. And then I'd confided in a pretty brunette who I think had actually been initially trying to chat me up, but by the end of my story was urging me to "just tell the girl how you feel". And then the poor guy behind the bar got the story too. . . Oh god, was I remembering wrongly or had he insisted on giving me a lift back to the hotel? I groaned. I must have been in some nick; no wonder I felt so terrible this morning!

Then I remembered I'd dreamt about Iona again last night. She'd helped me into my room, made sure I was okay. She'd even reminded me about taking my contacts out, I grimaced. Even in my dream, I'd been reluctant to do so . . . As if I was worried that, by the time I dealt with such practicalities, she'd be gone and I'd be left alone again.

The memories lingered of her touching my forehead, of me grasping her hand and pulling it down to my cheek. If it hadn't been a dream, that would had been the first physical contact we'd had since prom night, and I couldn't stop shaking at her touch. I would have wished it was real, had dream Ryan (idiot) not then started babbling nonsense, asking why she had ghosted him, and - even more embarrassingly - if she had slept with Angus on Friday night. Dream Iona hadn't in fact slept with Angus, and I remembered my relief before everything faded to black.

I opened my eyes again, even more tentatively than the last time, and gingerly raised myself to a sitting position. The contents of my stomach swirled and I swallowed down the urge to vomit. I was still fully-dressed, I realised, glancing down at my checked shirt and jeans. And trainers . . . dear God, I hadn't even taken my shoes off.

What is this, alcohol amateur hour, Thorne? I asked myself scornfully. My eyes fell on a bottle of water sitting on my bedside table and, twisting the lid off, I thankfully gulped down half of the contents in one go. I remembered Iona putting a bottle of water beside me in my dream.

Shit.

Had my dream actually been real? I cringed at the very thought, and hoped the bottle of water was just a coincidence. Maybe drunk past Ryan had just been looking out for hungover future Ryan. He didn't do that very often, the selfish prick, but it was a possibility!

Feeling distinctly queasy, I slowly made my way to the bathroom and faced the mirror. Yep, as suspected, my eyes were a bit bloodshot, and I found myself wincing as I peeled the contacts off, eyeballs stinging.