A hollow rolling sound, a soft impact. Nothing
...A hollow rolling sound, a soft impact. Nothing
.....A hollow rolling sound, a soft impact. Nothing 

It took quite a few repeats of this to pull Nicki from deep in the coma she lay in and the moment something like consciousness hit her she earnestly and heartily wished she was dead. Was there ever anything like the taste of a mouth after a night of hard drinking? Lord she prayed there wasn’t, it was foul but it was nothing next to the pounding in her head. 

Pain. She felt lancing pain in her head, so intense that it made her groan, the noise of which echoed through her head like a gunshot. That of course, is when the hollow rolling began as the slight sway of the ship made an empty bottle roll right into her head. 

Was there anything like the sound of words that poured from the mouth after a night of hard drinking? Lord she prayed there wasn’t. Though her words were not loud, to spare her aching head, they made up for their lack of volume in vehemence. Her own foulness was too much and she sat up, gently shrugging off the heavy weight that pinned her down torso down, not having the strength or wherewithal to deal with the tree trunk that pinned down her thighs. As she righted herself and risked opening her eyes, first riding out the dagger to the eyes that was the sun hitting her beleaguered retinas, she took in her location by small degrees. Her cabin, that was good. She was dressed, mostly, that was also good. There was not the stale sick smell of vomit in her cabin, even better. 

All of these were good things, lessening the impact of the pounding head she was sporting at that moment. But then she hadn’t looked behind her yet. She hadn’t braved turning around to see the warm, breathing weight behind her. Because she was a coward. Groaning softly she pressed her palms lightly into her eyes as if she could somehow hold back the pain despite feeling that maybe, just maybe she deserved this headache, that she’d earned the state of wretchedness she currently dwelled in. Hadn’t she done something like this just the night before? Hadn’t she learned her lesson then? Clearly not. 

Giving herself a moment she finally forced herself to turn and look beside her, even though her whole world swam. It was as she thought, Jax, passed out with one powerful thigh thrown over hers. 

Bits and flashes of the night came back to her, his deep ringing voice, the way he phrased things, the bright flash of his disconcerting smile in the dark as he lowered a bottle to begin his turn. She remembered her surprise when he’d fallen after shouting out that verse. She laughed even though it made her gorge rise. He’d toppled like a tree and she’d stared at him for a good long moment before finally crawling over to him and rolling him on his side. She had been doctor enough to listen to his heartbeat and make certain he wasn’t going to die. She seemed to recall trying to hoist him up onto her bed with some sense of seeing to his comfort but giving up after his considerable weight proved too much. 

As she looked down at him just then, passed out behind her she blushed to see his shirt undone and open over his magnificent chest. Some of the buttons were missing and some of the button holes had been torn through. It seemed she owed him a shirt. She recalled with considerable shame how she’d indulged herself drunkenly, unbuttoning his shirt with the same fervor with which she’d done it up earlier though with an entirely different intent. He was beautiful, there was no denying that. The sculpting of his muscles was a work of art and proof enough for her that there was a god. She’d apparently thought so last night since just out of her reach under her table lay one of her sketch books and a small nub of charcoal. The book was open to some sketching that was better than it had any right to be considering how inebriated she’d been when she’d done them. It was worse than she thought, it wasn’t just his chest she’d drawn, but his face too, there was no mistaking who it was she’d drawn and with such careful attention to detail. She felt her eyes widen in horror as a stray thought crossed her pounding mind. Her eyes dipped to his pants and with relief she noted that they were just as they were supposed to be. Her unseemly interest in his anatomy went no further than his chest. 

Quietly so as not to disturb him she began to slide out from under him. If she wasn’t there when he woke up she wouldn’t have to answer questions or suffer through any digs he threw her way. She was a coward after all.