Fallen Roses

The dull ache in your head is the first thing you register, followed by the unfamiliar scent of an unknown room. You're in a bed you don't recognize, a stranger sleeping soundly beside you, his back turned away.
“Oh boy, not again,” you mutter, the phrase a weary echo of past mistakes. A cold hand presses against your throbbing temple as you desperately try to piece together the fragmented memories of the previous night.
Edward’s concert, drinks, dancing, a tall guy… and then this. A wave of nausea washes over you as you spot your phone on the nightstand. Unplugging it quickly, your eyes scan the screen, thousands of messages from Edward and your dad flashing before you. A knot tightens in your stomach. “Fuck!” The word escapes your lips, sharp and loud, causing the sleeping man beside you to stir slightly. You press your lips together, willing yourself to be quiet.