{S T O R Y} 365 Days

_{Katie McGonan’s life as a beginning artist-student is a Royal Mess, capital R, capital M. As every student in London, she’s more than broke, has a lot of véry strange friends and the habit to get messily drunk at least once a week. To top it off, her boyfriend isn’t really the guy she wants, she doesn’t seem to have any inspiration for her drawings and her parents suddenly decide to become overprotective.
So what would happen if Katie decides to get drunk, makes a promise to get her life together and gives herself… A year? Well, she’s pretty much Royally Screwed. There go the capitals again. But that’s okay. She’s got 365 days. 365 messy, lifechanging days.}

PROLOGUE

_{It didn’t REALLY go as planned. I mean, whenever you wake up in a bed that’s absolutely not yours, you know you’re screwed. And quite possibly suffering a terrible hangover. Or, as I put it, I’m Royally Hungover this morning. You know, the headache, the light hurting your eyes, the fact that you’re about to throw up, everything. But I had totally gone wild last night, so getting out of the bed I’m currently lying in is pretty much impossible for me.
Actually, I’m even sure about what happened last night. There is this memory of tequila’s and the hot Spanish dude, but after that my mind simply goes blank. Typical case of “what the f*ck did I do last night?” hangover. I hate those. They mess up my whole weekend. ‘Kay, about everything messes up my weekends. It’s not just the drinking. It’s the whole package. Annoying girlfriends who decide your miniscule apartment is the ideal place for a filmnight, a boyfriend who doesn’t call back, an assignment that has to be turned in on-
Holy f*cking shit. In one second, I shoot up. It’s Monday. Monday as in deadline-Monday. And not only am I hungover, I haven’t even started the assignment I’m supposed to turn in today. My head hurts from my sudden movement, but the only thing I can think about is how much time I still have. Panicking, I search for a clock. That’s another problem; not in my own room and not wearing clothes. Oh great, I’ll never being a good girlfriend. Not that Josh minds, but still. I can only hope we were doing it safe. Pregnancy would mess up my life even more and I can’t have that.
Before I can even think further, there’s a sound next to me. The door slowly opens, and much to my surprise it isn’t a Spanish hunk standing in the dooropening, it’s Elliot. He sighs, puts the tea he’s carrying on the nightstand and says: “Good grace, Kate. Your hair is a mess.” I nod. “Elliot,” I say dreadfully, trying to get my fingers through my tangled hair, “My entire life is a mess. A Royal mess, with capital R.”}

_{So, yeah. Verhaaltje wat al een tijd in mijn hoofd rondspookt. Noworries, de hoofdstukken komen - waarschijnlijk - allemaal in het Nederlands. Commentaar is zeer welkom, kritiek ook. But be gentle, I'm sensitive D:}

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