It feels like someone is trying to dissect my skull with an icepick when I wake the next morning. But I guess that's what happens when you cut off your weekly routine of getting drunk on Friday nights – my body isn't as used to it as it should be. Goddammit.

I don't know what time Nova and I got home last night, but it must have been late because we've definitely slept in. As of right now, the sun is shining through the window behind the bed, giving the bedroom a golden glow that I absolutely hate. My eyes are too fucking sensitive.

Determined to fall asleep again, I decide that I'm going to close the curtains. Except, when I prop myself up on my elbows, I freeze.

Clothes litter the hardwood: two shirts, a worn black leather jacket, boxer – I close my eyes and groan, hoping I can erase the image. But everything is the same when I open them. Unchanged. A strapless bra and matching underwear that looks like they were torn off reside near the foot of the bed. My jean shorts and belt are carelessly thrown to the hardwood. I catch a glimpse of my wallet. Shoes sit by the door – white Keds and a pair of Nike sandals.

My stomach flips. This can't be real. The thought makes me sick to my stomach.

Whether it's out of fear or curiosity, I look to my left.

Shit.

My gaze flicks upward, past the soft curve of her spine, the dip of her neck. Rich auburn curls that reach just past her shoulders. The odd-shaped birthmark just below her earlobe. I stare at that for a moment, frowning because I've never seen it before. The colouring is weird, too, almost like a – oh. Oh. It's definitely not a birthmark.

Shit.

And then I see her face. The stunning contrast of thick, black lashes against her pale skin and the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

"Shit," I mutter, briefly closing my eyes to give myself one more chance at eliminating this nightmare.

Yet again, I'm proven wrong. This is real.

And it's as if the realization makes something in my mind click. Blurred images of last night come back to me at full swing. The two of us were playing pool and drinking, snacking on...what were we eating again? I shake my head. Who gives a fuck about what we were eating? Snippets of us singing up on stage – I remember the song and how I carried her off of the stage. The words Take me home, Warren flitter in there.

Long story short: we were both so fucking shitfaced that we decided it would be a good idea to sleep together. Great. Just fucking great. Anger rushes through my blood. Anger that's only directed at myself.

Okay, that's a lie. Nova has never been one to get drunk – when I decided what I was doing last night, I figured she'd just drive me home. But no. She was worse than I was. And that pisses me off just a little. Out of the two of us, she was supposed to be the responsible one.

But I'm mostly mad at myself.

Yeah, I've been wanting to strip Nova down and make slow, sweet love to her since the day we met. I just didn't want it to happen like this. I didn't want the numbing effects of alcohol to be affecting either of us. What I wanted was for her to realize that she loved me, tell me, and then make the choice together. I mean, I guess we did make the choice together, but it's not the same. It's just like any other girl I've slept with: consent, but no emotions.

On top of that, Nova is going to flat-out murder me when she discovers what happened, and then she's going to take it out on herself. She's going to be disappointed that she decided to drink. She's going to be disappointed with her choices.

Groaning, I drop my face into my hands. For the first time in my life, I feel like a complete asshole for sleeping with a girl. I can't say I'm not happy I finally got to be with her, but I never wanted it to happen this way. She was supposed to want me without anything interfering.

Why do I do this shit? To meet my needs and urges? God, I hate myself more than anyone could possibly understand at the moment. The self-loathing I feel is like poison seeping into my bloodstream, slowly killing every living cell in my body.

Disgusted with myself, I kick the covers away and gather my clothes. I dress as quickly as possible, hating that I don't have the patience to change into a different pair of clothes – these ones smell like her; all I can smell are lemons combined with vanilla. Sweet and tangy and so her. Meaning, I can't stop thinking about what it felt like to have her kiss me back and not pull away. Sure, things are foggy, but I know for a fact that she wanted me last night. She told me to take her home. I was just too drunk to tell her no. Too stupid to stay sober and actually enjoy the night. Make some memories with a friend.

I also grab my phone and my wallet. I need to get out of here as soon as possible. Before she wakes up. I know I'm being a coward, not dealing with this. But I can't be here. I can't.

Nova was the one girl I said I didn't want to do this with, and look what happened. I don't know if she's ever done it with another man, either. If I've taken her virginity from her because of my own screw-up, I'm never going to be able to forgive myself. The thought sickens me.

I shake my head. I can't think about this. About me. Typical Warren. The fuck-up.

With my belongings gathered, I head downstairs. My plan is to grab something to eat and then get the hell outta here so I can figure out what I'm going to say and how I'm going to apologize. If she'll even talk to me, that is.

As soon as I step into the kitchen, Hazel, Julia, and Easton go absolutely silent. Judging by the way they're staring at me I'm guessing that they already know what happened between me and Nova. Though I hate the three of them being here, my selfish side can't help but be thankful that my mom and dad aren't here. Having them here would only complicate things further. The story would be different if Nova and me were actually together and did this. But we're not. We're far from that.

Because I feel like I deserve to be judged profusely and harshly, I look at each of them. My sister looks disappointed. East looks shocked, and I notice that his fists are clenched at his sides. Julia is either pissed off or pitiful – I can't exactly tell with her. None of them seems exactly happy with what I've done.

An unfamiliar burn starts to build behind my nose. I can't remember the last time I cried. Maybe when I was seven? Damn it, I have no clue. I hate this feeling. All these stupid emotions that want to take over my body. Nova's screwed me up so badly I can barely tell the difference between regret and self-disappointment.

"Warren."

I blink at the sound of my name. Hazel walks over to me, and when she hugs me, I hug her back. Leave it to my sister to understand what I'm going through right now.

"I didn't want it to happen that way," I whisper.

"I know, little brother, I know," she says back.

I pull out of the hug. I was wrong about the look on her face – she's not disappointed, she's sad. For a moment, I wonder how things are going between her and Greyson. They seemed a little snippy with each other a couple of nights ago. And then I remember how happy she was when she mentioned Nova beginning to fall for me. Of course my sister was rooting for us. Of course she was.

"What happened last night?" Hazel asks.

"Something tells me you already know," I reply, defeated.

For a brief moment, I see guilt on her face. "I, um, came here last night at around one. Julia and East were in the kitchen and I went off about them not picking you up." She looks over at East. "He said that there was a chance you two were here already and had just gone to bed because, well, Nova's always so responsible, right? So, I went upstairs to double check and make sure I didn't have to drive back into town and pick you up."

I squeeze my eyes shut. Fuck. Did my sister see everything that happened? Were Nova and I that drunk that we didn't hear the door open?

"You two were already asleep, but the evidence was there."

Relief washes over me, but it's followed by another wave of guilt and defeat.

"Damn it," I mutter, turning away from everyone. Even though the evidence was still there when I woke up, it's the confirmation that brings back more blurred memories of last night. The heat of her body, hearing her moan my name...I quickly block out those memories. Thinking about all the things I've been wanting for so long is irrational.

"Warren," Haze says softly. "Sit down. I'll get you some water and painkillers – you look rough."

With the feeling of defeat heavy on my shoulders, I listen to Hazel and sit down beside Julia at the breakfast bar. I cross my arms, rest them on the countertop, and then bury my face away from the world around me.

I wish I could hide away for the rest of my days. It would be an easier thing to do.

How did I fall this low? How did I succumb to burning a bridge that I was so close to crossing?