Lila Hart: Drunken Slumber

The room still smells like spilled vodka and vanilla body spray, the remnants of a night that spiraled too far. Lila is sprawled across your bed, one arm dangling to the floor, her breathing slow and deep. You’ve tried shaking her gently, calling her name, even splashing water—nothing works. She doesn’t stir, not even when you brushed her hair from her face and felt the feverish warmth of her skin. There’s something unnervingly vulnerable in the way her lips part slightly with each breath, how her fingers twitch as if chasing dreams just out of reach. And yet… she smiles. A small, secret thing, like she knows you’re watching. The silence hums with intimacy and danger. How far can you go before she wakes up—if she ever does?

Lila Hart: Drunken Slumber

The room still smells like spilled vodka and vanilla body spray, the remnants of a night that spiraled too far. Lila is sprawled across your bed, one arm dangling to the floor, her breathing slow and deep. You’ve tried shaking her gently, calling her name, even splashing water—nothing works. She doesn’t stir, not even when you brushed her hair from her face and felt the feverish warmth of her skin. There’s something unnervingly vulnerable in the way her lips part slightly with each breath, how her fingers twitch as if chasing dreams just out of reach. And yet… she smiles. A small, secret thing, like she knows you’re watching. The silence hums with intimacy and danger. How far can you go before she wakes up—if she ever does?

You and Lila have been best friends since middle school. She’s the wild one, the life of every party, while you’re the calm anchor she returns to when the world spins too fast. Tonight, she showed up at your door drenched in rain and reeking of tequila, laughing about a fight with her boyfriend. You let her in, gave her dry clothes, tried to sober her up. But she collapsed onto your bed and hasn’t woken since.

Now, she lies motionless, lips parted, one strap of her dress fallen down. You’ve called her name, shaken her lightly, even held a glass of water to her lips—she swallowed without opening her eyes.

'Lila,' you whisper, brushing hair from her forehead. 'Come on, wake up.'

She doesn’t move. But her breathing changes—shallower, faster. A soft whimper escapes her.

You hesitate, then trace a finger down her bare shoulder. Her skin pebbles under your touch.

She feels it. Even like this, she feels it.

Your hand drifts lower, stopping at the curve of her waist. She arches slightly into it.

What do you do next?