A night with stranger

I didn’t know how much time had passed when I came back to consciousness. A throbbing pain in my head pulled me from the depths of unconsciousness. My eyes fluttered open to the dim light filtering through an unfamiliar room. I blinked a few times, realizing I was lying on a leather sofa, a blanket carelessly thrown over me.

Sitting up slowly, I winced as my head pounded in protest. My clothes were still intact, though slightly rumpled, and my shoes were on the floor. How did I get here? The events of the night before were a blur—a whirlwind of loud music, a drink that didn’t taste right, and… him.

Panic prickled through me. Flashes of the bar came rushing back—his sharp blue eyes, his cold words, the drink that had knocked me out. My stomach tightened. Did we…? Oh No.

“Why does my head feel like it’s splitting open?” Clutching my head, I whimpered, tears spilling down my cheeks. I tried to stand, but my legs buckled, sending me crashing into a side table. The loud noise echoed in the stillness, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching fast.

“What the hell?” His voice, sharp and cold, sliced through the haze. I looked up to see him standing there, his broad shoulders and unbuttoned shirt giving him an air of effortless dominance. His eyes, cold and piercing, held no hint of kindness.

He marched toward me, fists clenched in visible frustration.

“Don’t dare to spread your dirt here,” he snapped, gripping my arm and pulling me upright. Before I could protest, he slapped a hand over my mouth and dragged me toward a bathroom. The cold tiles beneath my knees felt like ice as I knelt by the toilet, my stomach twisting violently.

He stood by the doorframe, watching with a mixture of irritation and indifference.

“First time drinking, huh?” he muttered, more to himself than to me. Shame and anger welled up as I wiped my mouth and stumbled out, clutching my stomach. His gaze locked onto me.

“Where am I?” I mumbled, my voice trembling.

“You’re in my hell,” he replied flatly, his tone devoid of warmth. I blinked, trying to process his words.

“Why am I here?”

He folded his arms, leaning against the wall as his gaze bore into me.

“You tell me,” he said coldly. “You ruined my evening. Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you’ve caused?” My heart raced as I tried to remember, fragments of the bar flashing in my mind. His voice pulled me back to the present.

“How dare you call me a gangster?” he said, his voice low and sharp. “Did you think creating this scene would make me take you home?”

“Did we…..?” My lips trembled, I couldn’t complete my sentence. His smirk vanished, replaced by a look of irritation.

“Seriously? I don’t touch drunk, pathetic women who can’t handle their liquor.” The bluntness of his words hit me like a slap, and my face flushed with both embarrassment and anger. “Pathetic?” His words stung, cutting deeper than I cared to admit.

“That’s not fair,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

“Have you even looked at the time?” He gestured toward the clock. “It’s past midnight, and you’re in a stranger’s apartment. What does that say about you?” Shame curled in my chest as I glanced at the clock. My reflection in the glass of a nearby window only made me feel smaller.

“Look at your state,” he sneered, stepping closer. “You’re pathetic.” Heat surged through me—not from shame this time, but from anger. I squared my shoulders and met his gaze.

“Who are you to insult me?” His mocking smile widened.

“You should be grateful I didn’t take advantage of you.”

“Shut up!” I snapped, covering my ears as tears spilled over. He closed the distance between us in an instant, his presence looming. Before I could react, he grabbed my arm and dragged me to the door.

“Enough of this nonsense,” he said coldly, yanking the door open.

“Wait—” My words were cut off as he shoved me out with a force that sent me sprawling onto the floor. Pain shot through my side as I hit the ground. The door slammed shut behind me, the sound echoing in the dimly lit hallway. Tears blurred my vision as I curled into myself, trying to process what had just happened.