“Shit. Fuck. Ouch.”
The muttered curses woke me, trailing through the chilly air and penetrating the warm duvet cocoon I was buried it. Despite being mumbled, the sound made me wince, and my head pounded in outrage at being pulled from unconsciousness.
The ache only increased as I squinted my eyes open; the gloomy grey light of London felt like it was searing my retinas, and another bolt of pain shot through the nerves in my brain.
I groaned quietly, groggy with residual sleep, and weakly tugged my comforter up over my face, doing my best not to move too much as I became aware of the dull nausea lurking in my stomach.
Zayn always disappears and comes back hotter than ever like what’s your secret
Imagine your icon owning cows, but the cows escape. There are now cows everywhere. Your icon breaks down in tears.