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“Why? Let me guess… you want to make sure I’m okay. Then invite yourself in for a nightcap, which ends up overnight because I’m drunk and have no clue who’s in my bed. You’ll tell me I’m the best you’ve ever had, while I ride you like a drunk cowgirl, and when I wake up in the morning, you’ll be long gone…” She takes a deep breath, then continues… “So how about I save you the trouble of the cheesy pick up line and say let’s go?”
“Actually, no,” I correct her. “It’s not safe at night, and I just want to make sure you can get home. I don’t want to have sex with you.”
“You’re a jer?—”
“Oh,” I quickly interrupt her. “I’m not really a cowgirl position type-of-guy either, I prefer to take girls from behind.”
With a downward gaze and flushed cheeks, she crosses her arms, angling her body away from me. “You know what? I’m fine. Go back to whatever you were doing. I’ll be fine.”
Wow! A double fine.
“I mean, if you really want me to come back to your place,” I tease, because watching her angry is oh so satisfying.
“Stop right there, okay? I’m not looking for a fling or whatever the hell you think I’m looking for.”
“I think you’re looking for a man to make you feel alive. You know, forget about your problems if only for one night.”
Silence falls upon her. “You’re wrong. I just …it doesn’t matter because I will never see you again and just because you’re hot means nothing.”
In a panicked frenzy, she unties the top of her laced heels, sliding her shoes off until her bare feet are firmly on the pavement. Without the height of her heels, she falls below my chin. Much smaller than she appeared to be.
Without a goodbye or a gracious ‘thank you for helping me not vomit in my hair,’ or ‘go home loser who doesn’t understand the word no,’ she walks down the path with her back to me.
Part of me wants to yell out ‘thanks’ until she stops midstep and turns around to face me one more time. There is something in the weight of her stare. It’s unexplainable, drawing me in, but I have no idea why. Perhaps I’m being an idiot—take her home. Yet, some voice inside me warns me to stay away. She has her own problems, and I surely have mine.
Before I call it a night, I stumble back into the pub, apologizing to Dan for the altercation and offer compensation for the mess. This night has turned into one financial disaster after another. I may have money, but throwing it all on some stupid bet is very unlike me. I can almost hear Ma’s voice berating me from the other side of the world.
With the clock striking midnight, I make my way home, or whatever you want to call it, to drown in my homesickness in some much-needed sleep.
Just shy of the front door, it dawns on me—I never even got her name.
I’ll name her curly, not that I will encounter her again.
Some things are never meant to be.
Six
Gabriella
“I’m never drinking again.”
According to the internet, the best way to avoid a hangover is by consuming a large amount of water, coffee, and painkillers before heading to bed. One website even went as far as downing a whole burrito with extra jalapenos.
My stomach flips into a nauseating circle at the thought of eating a burrito.
The last time I drank myself into a stupor would have been in college. Even then, I don’t recall the aftermath anywhere near as bad as this.
Lying in bed, the aching in my skull ebbs and flows like a cold tide. No matter how I position myself, it doesn’t go away. Ripping off the sheets, I stumble out of bed and into the bathroom. The pit of my stomach swirls, and without any further warning, I drop to the floor, clutching onto the side of the toilet bowl as last night projectiles out.
I reach for the flush, leaning back onto the cold tiled wall. I feel only slightly better, enough so I can rinse out my mouth with mouthwash then climb back into bed. Once there, this stupid hangover consumes me again. It’s as if the blackest of clouds are hovering over my head with no intention of clearing anytime soon. I’m living in regret, swearing never to touch a morsel of alcohol ever again. What was I even thinking? I’m too old for this. Last night was college behavior. There is nothing wild about lying in bed with a throbbing headache and upset stomach.
It’s around midmorning when I actually drag myself out of bed. Despite another hour’s sleep, my head still feels like an ax was planted in it. Even my normally soft pillow feels like I’m sleeping on a pile of bricks.
My eyesight struggles to cope with the daylight, and I fumble while tying the belt on my robe.
Nothing seems to compute.
I am dying.
