John + Ava (tbd)

Her hand feels heavier.

Which is strange, because why would that be?

There’s sunlight streaming in through the window across the bed, across her face, and she flings her arm over her eyes, trying to block it out, ward off the hangover migraine that she can already feel coming.

Jesus Christ, what the hell happened last ni-

“Oh my god.” She shoots straight up in bed, sheets pooling around her waist. The sudden movement has the room spinning, and her hand, her heavy hand, folds down onto the mattress for support. Her entire body aches, muscles sore, bones rigid, everything stiff. On top of it all, she’s sticky between her legs. “Oh my god.” She’s alone in bed, but not in the room. The shower is on in the bathroom, steam rolling out from beneath the door, and for a long second, she wonders if she dreamed the whole thing. If she hallucinated it.

No.

The proof, undeniable, blatant, shiny… is sitting on her finger.

“Holy fuck.” An empty, tipped over champagne bottle catches her eye. Next to it? Her underwear. She’s stark naked beneath the sheets, and when she runs her hands over her face, she feels the telltale hardened sprawl of her lashes. She didn’t even wash her makeup off.

But all of that pales in comparison to what she thinks happened last night.

The ring sparkles at her, mocks her. She doesn’t even dwell on the fact that it’s huge, something purchased at a jewelry store in one of the hotels. It’s big. It’s flashy. Multiple carats. It’s what every girl wants.

Except her.

Take one look at this ring and it says exactly what you would expect. It belongs to a princess. A spoiled brat. A girl gone wild, a material girl, a barbie who’s here for a good time.

The ring brandishes the ugliest truth at her, one she can’t escape.

This is how he sees her.

The shower stops. There’s the sound of a draw, movement, and she’s split down the middle, debating grabbing all her clothes and making a run for it, or hiding under the bed.

She doesn’t have a choice for either. As soon as she starts to roll towards where her bra lays on the floor, the door creaks and then he’s there. In jeans, without a shirt on, watching her with his arms crossed.

“Uh. Hi.” She squeaks, and he sighs.

“Oh Ava. What am I going to do with you?”