She would have killed him if she wasn't so tired. "Eward," she groaned at the feeling of him rubbing her back, however the sound of his voice was different. And so, with another groan she rolled over. "You're not Eward," she told the man simply, not seeming too concerned with the fact that there was an uninvited man in her bedroom. "You're-" she cut off, going through a list of names in her head. He looked familiar, but she knew so many men that it took her several long moments to go through all their faces.
Suddenly her eyes grew wide and she froze, wondering if this was some sort of dream. Slowly she reached out and prodded Lysander roughly in the arm, as if testing to see if he was really there. He was. And he felt real. And so she grabbed her pillow, hugged it to her chest for protection and scrambled out of the bed. "You're not real, you're not real," she repeated, her eyes still wide with terror. "I'm drunk."