Just You. Jane Lark

       Imagine a World

       Chapter One

       Portia

      My head hurt. It was like someone was firing a nail gun into the back of my skull. I must have drunk buckets last night.

      The weight of my forearm lay on my forehead. I opened my eyes. I could see the sky through the skylight. The day was bleak. Gray. Miserable. Like I felt.

      Memories flashed through my thoughts as if someone had switched a PowerPoint presentation running in my head, just images popping up, then sliding out. Shit. Justin. I sat up and my brain rolled forward like a ball of rock, hitting my skull… I felt ill.

      I held still for a moment. I was going to throw up. I dived out of bed racing for the bathroom.

      It was on days like this I missed people. Anyone. It would just be nice to have someone around who gave a shit sometimes.

      Ten minutes later, with an empty belly, and a brain that didn’t belong to me, I came out of the bathroom and headed for the sink by the burner. I poured myself a glass of water, then reached to get some Advil from the cupboard beside it to kill my headache. I drank some of the water, swallowed the pills and then washed them down with more water. My brain throbbed steadily, still protesting about the amount of alcohol I’d drunk the night before.

      I sat on the bed, with my feet on the floor, and let memories and images, play through my head. Oh my God. I tumbled back, lying across the mattress, with my hands gripping my forehead and partly covering my eyes––as if I could hide from the pictures, like a stupid kid playing peek-a-boo. The images kept telling me the things I’d done.

      Shit.

      Did I have sex with Justin?

      I didn’t even like Justin like that.

      “Oh my God, Portia. What have you done now?” I could remember him kissing me. I’d definitely kissed him. It was after we’d got in the pool. Jason had just disappeared. It was Jason my lonely brain had been interested in for weeks, though the guy was unavailable…

      But Justin…

      He wasn’t bad looking, but he was no Jesse Williams, and he was a joker, and a bit of a douche. He always hung around the girls at work, too much––so much it was kind of creepy. He was one of those guys who worked so hard at being nice it made you want to back away…

      More images paraded in my head. We’d gone through all the clothes and stuff in Mr. Rees’s room looking for bikinis to wear in the pool… Yes, I had definitely been wearing one because there was an image in my head of his fingers slipping it aside to touch my breasts, and I could feel his fingers touching me too.

      Shit. I shut my eyes, then opened them again as more pictures piled in.

      His hand had been in my bottoms.

      My palm gripped my forehead. When would I learn not to drink so much? Well it was January 1st; the day for resolutions.

      I think I’d suggested looking for the pool too, but there had been four of us in it, not just me and Justin. It had been us and the other girls we sat near in the office, Crystal and Becky. Surely I wouldn’t have let him do stuff if the others were there. Please tell me, even out of my head, I had better morals than that.

      His friend Jason had been locked in the bathroom earlier in the night, during the part of the night I could remember, I’d offered to go in there and hung around to talk to him on the terrace later while he’d texted someone. That was when he’d reminded me it was his “wife” he was texting.

      I had to give up alcohol––it made my judgment too bad.

      Shit. I bet Justin just spotted an easy chance.

      I sat up again, reaching for my cell. There was only one way I was going to find out. I flicked up the messages, then texted: ‘Hey Becky. Happy New Year’s! Is your head as bad as mine? What the hell did I do last night?’ I tapped send on the text praying it wouldn’t come back with a hideous acknowledgement that, yes, I’d entertained them in the pool with a live porn show. But they’d have stopped us long before his hand had got in my bikini bottoms, wouldn’t they?

      I had obviously been too drunk to stop it myself though.

      My cell vibrated in my hand.

      ‘Happy New Year’s! We left before you. You were with Justin in the pool. I don’t know. What did you do? ;)’

      ‘Not much then probably. But I don’t remember.’

      ‘You’ll have to ask Justin?’

      ‘Think I’ll pass.’

      I threw my cell on the bed beside me. I couldn’t even remember how I got home. Let alone if I got dressed after getting out the pool––and what did we do with the wet swimming stuff. Mr. Rees didn’t even know we’d snuck into the pool. My dad would go psycho if someone had done that in his house. Maybe that’s why my subconscious had thrown the idea in when I was drunk.

      Maybe that was why I’d got in too deep with Justin––pay back. My dad would hate that too.

      But why did I have to do it at the work party? That was really going to impress my boss. What if I’d stumbled back into his living room wearing his girlfriend’s bikini, dripping water, and puked on his polished marble floor?

      I’d get the pointed finger tomorrow. You’re fired.

      Dad would go super crazy if I told him I’d done something so embarrassing. He’d think it would impact on his reputation.

      But I wasn’t telling him because I wasn’t going to lose my job, there would be a way to convince Mr. Rees to keep me on, if I had to. I’d worked out a hundred wiles for manipulating people in my years of growing up.

      British boarding schools were full of stuck-up––get me I’m rich––bitches. You learned to be loud and stand up for yourself or you ended up the school dupe, laughed at and constantly bullied. I had got loud and I’d learned to win attention. Manipulation was an art I’d learned from my daddy though, not just school. But I wasn’t proud of that.

      Well, New Year’s Day or not, it seemed to me the miserable weather, and my hangover, called for a day spent in bed watching any movie that didn’t take much brain power to follow it. I leaned over and picked up my laptop, then lay back down and flipped the lid open.

      I went into Netflix, ignoring Twitter and Instagram, and everything else. I didn’t want to face any malicious office party pictures; I’d deal with them tomorrow. Today, I was all for pulling the bed covers over my head and hiding.

      I scanned through the lists.

       Justin

      Fuck. My head felt like someone was banging it against a wall. Fucking free champagne. I wished I hadn’t indulged so aggressively. But then, hey––it was free.

      An image of Portia flowed into my head––Portia in an emerald green bikini. All the girls had looked hot, but she’d looked the best, and she’d felt pretty hot in the pool too––when the others had gone.

      Shit. My head.

      “Justin! Justin!” My eight-year-old kid brother rushed into my room, thrusting the door aside, and then jumped on my bed. My head spun, and my belly did a full roll, as pain pierced through my forehead and out the back of my skull like someone fired a gun through it.

      “Go steady––you pain in the butt.”

      “It’s