Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)

Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)

Lola Holton is in a rough daze and doesn't know why! What happened that Sunday night that left her house a disaster zone?
Also, a short John Lennon love story! :D

Chapter 1

Huh?

"One, two, three..."

I was laying in my bed, peach-hued covers enclosing me from every side. Boy, did I have the worst headache! Counting the revolutions of the ceiling fan above me gave my mind a bit of relief. I glanced over to my alarm clock.

8:04 a.m.

"Oh, no," I gasped, shooting straight up. The clothing I was wearing slid down my frame. Funny, I don't remember wearing a striped, collared shirt last night. Heck, there was a lot of things I didn't remember about last night. What happened?

I just shook my paranoid thoughts away and pulled the unexplained shirt off of me. I threw it across the room, landing on my coffee table. This London flat I was currently renting was not the biggest I've seen. Sometimes it felt as if I were in a sardine can!

"Great, now Mr. Fronds is going to chew me out for sure!"

Whispering to myself wasn't going to help me rush to work. The record store was a good ten blocks away, which would take ten minutes to get there on my Moped. I would still be late, knowing my shift started at eight o' clock on the dot!
I sighed in frustration and peeked at myself in the hallway mirror. My long, chesnutt brown hair was matted and my makeup smeared. I needed to freshen up quickly! Balancing on my feet as I attempted to shove a pair of black heels on, I smoothed out my white dress. Mr. Fronds wanted us customer service girls to look smashing and easy to approach. If I didn't get my look together today, I could just kiss my job goodbye.

I walked up to my bathroom door and turned the knob. Locked? I never lock my bathroom door for anything, unless I get really scared during the nighttime. What really did happen last night?!

I bit my lip in aggravation and hurried towards the living area to grab my purse. To my horror, I was greeted with a large bottle of red wine spilled on my Persian rug that my grandmother had given to me for Christmas. Two wine glasses, each chipped, were laying ever so casually next to a guitar. I was too confused to even question myself, so I snatched my bag and grabbed my keys, locking the door behind me.

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