The Morning After

~Adams Pov~

Sunlight seeped into the room, warm and relentless, yanking me from my light sleep. My head throbbed vaguely, a residue of whatever had been dropped into my drink last night, but it was nothing compared to the turmoil in my mind.

The events of last night played in my mind like a lunatic dream. The girl, Merina, stumbling drunkenly into my room, her idiot stubbornness, her soft lips…

I let out a harsh breath and ran a hand over my face as I sat up. The room was silent now except for the soft sound of her breathing. I rolled onto my side to look at her more fully, my head twisted toward her as I watched her stir under the covers. Her hair was a tangle, her face smothered in sleep, but something in that pose seemed tranquil, lulling, to dispel chaos she had stirred with her.

She stirred, eyelashes batting open to reveal cloudy eyes. She looked around the strange room, momentarily disoriented, and then it was as if something else clicked into place inside of her, perhaps the confusion giving way to alarm at what she had just realized.

Her body tensed up as memories clearly came flooding back to her. She looked down at herself, noticing how her bare shoulders were sticking out from under the sheet. Her face reddened, and then, surprisingly, her face set.

I waited with a half-amused smile, wondering what she would do next. Would she yell, fight me, and misunderstand? My lips were twitching with anticipation as I waited for her to notice me.

She sat up with a jerk and pushed my arm off her waist with more force than I had expected. I let her, wondering what she might do next.

"Shit," she whispered, her voice shaking a little as she scrambled to gather her clothes from the floor. Those clothes had been taken off by her in the middle of the night when she cried of heat. I had wanted to stop her but just let her be.

I watched her in silence, as my amusement grew with each passing second. Most women would cry, shout, or lash out after thinking they lost their virginity to a stranger.

But Merina… She was so calm. Too calm. Her face was a mask of indifference, as if what had happened meant nothing to her.

That intrigued me. Though I was waiting for her to ask me.

I broke the silence. "Where are you going?" I asked, my voice low and even.

Her head jerked up, and for the first time since she'd roused herself from the alcohol, her eyes, wide, locked on mine.

She blinked in surprise and immediatelyschooled herself into indifference. "You're awake?" she asked in measured neutrality. "Sorry about last night. I was drunk."

She shocked me by speaking like this, and why is she apologizing?

"What do you mean by apologizing?" I asked, sitting up and shrugging into a shirt. "I don't need your apology. Besides, you're the woman here. I took your first time. Shouldn't you be angry or… I don't know, upset?" I lied blinking an eye.

She pulled her T-shirt back over her head and smoothed the material with a nearly dismissive air. "Oh, I'm going home," she said simply.

"You don't have to worry about me. I won't give you any trouble. I promise I won't even remember you once I walk out that door."

I stared at her, incredulous. "Excuse me?”

Her voice was steady, her gaze direct as she said again, "You don't have to worry. It's only one night. Goodbye."

Her indifference was like a slap in the face. My jaw clenched as I stood up, looming over her. "And who the hell said you could just forget last night? Did you even ask for my opinion?"

She cocked her head to one side, her face all but taunting. "Do you want to keep me as a toy? I'm not interested."

Her calmness, her utter lack of reaction, rubbed me the wrong way in a manner I couldn't quite explain. Most women would cling, cry, and demand explanations. But Merina? She was walking away as if none of it mattered.

I took a step closer, lowering my voice. "I never said anything about you being a toy, Merina. Sit down. Let's talk. You can't just wake up after a night like that and leave without knowing who you slept with.”

I felt frustrated because I was doing all this when I didn't even do anything, but I just feel there was something about her that was so different.

Her lips quivered in a faint, humorless smile. "I don't care who you are. It was a great night, let's leave it at that. "

"Goodbye."

She turned toward the door, but suddenly she froze.

Her hand flew to her head, and her face went a frightful shade of white. She shivered violently, her bag slipping from her shoulder and hitting the floor with a dull thud.

I frown in confusion, "Merina?"I called out to her, my irritation giving way to concern.

She didn't respond. She rocked, clutching her head between both hands, gritting her teeth. Her breathing quickened. Ragged gasps tore from her throat. "Make it stop," she whispered raw with pain.

Her knees buckled, and I caught her just before she hit the ground. "Merina!" I shook her gently, my voice sharper than I intended.

"What's wrong? Is it a hangover?"

She didn't say a word. Her body was shaking and tears were running down her cheeks. Her veins were standing out against her pale skin, and I started to feel panic. This isn't a hangover, but definitely an illness!

"Where is your medicine?" I asked, panic-stricken, and looked around the room.

Her hands were rummaging through her bag, shaking in desperation, like a leaf.

Finally, when she pulled out a small bottle from inside, her face lit up with relief. But when she opened it, the smile completely vanished from her face and was replaced by an expression of despair.

The bottle was empty.

She stared at it a moment before her face crumpled and a low sob tore from her lips.

"Hahhh!" She pressed her lips as she reached up to touch her head again.

I took the bottle from her, my eyes scanning the label. The words punched me in the gut. Brain tumor meds.

"You have a brain tumor?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She didn't answer. Her tears fell harder as her shoulders shook, and she buried her face in her hands.

I knelt beside her, catching hold of her wrists gently to stop her from hitting herself. Her cries were low and broken, each twisting something deep in my chest.

"I. I just want it to stop," she whispered, her voice cracking. "It hurts so much. It hurts, I just want to die."

Her words cut through me like a knife. I tightened my hold on her wrists, my jaw working as I fought to keep control.

"I can't let you do that," I snarled, clamping down harder. "Be still."

She whipped her head back and forth, her sobs growing louder, fuller. "Let me go!" she shrieked, struggling against me.

I let go of her, for a moment, to reach for my phone, and call for help, but the sound of her moving behind me had me turning around.

She was making her way to the wall with her intentions clear.

"Merina, no!" I shrieked, grabbing her in time. I grabbed hold of her shoulders, flinging her backward, while she was fighting against me.

"You want to die? You want to die on me?! Not a chance, so calm down!"

Tears had been running down the front of her face, but now she really began to cry—tears dousing my shirt as finally, the raw, incessant sobs came through.

Now that the lid was off, it just boiled up—how she was so angry at herself, me, and the situation at large.

Slowly, brokenly, cracking at the edges by the weight I tried not to show in my tones, softly, "I'm sorry, Merina. but I just can't look at you this way."

No further words came as I coaxed my fingers back into her pressure point, rendering her unconscious.

She just went limp in my arms, and I slowly lowered her to the bed, brushing a strand of hair back from her damp forehead. I just sat looking at her for the next few seconds, constricted in my chest as I stared at the pale face and an almost imperceptible hollow in the area right under her eyes.

She was, oh, painfully pretty, the malady having elsewhere left its stamp upon her countenance—what a young age.

I picked up the phone and dialed my assistant. "Track my location and send the car now. I want everybody removed from the mansion. And send me the best doctors in the neurology field; I don't care what they cost." My voice was cold and authoritative, and he knew by the tone that I was serious, for he gave a good reply to that.

When I hung up the phone, I looked down at her once more, my jaw setting in determination.

"You're coming home with me," I rasped.