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Doodle-oodle-oodle-oo!
“Uggggggh.” I whacked my alarm clock with the back of my hand, trying to silence the cheerful digital noises assaulting my brain.
Doodle-oodle-oodle-oo!
“Fuck you,” I mumbled, swatting at the other assorted bullshit on my nightstand until I finally found my cell phone.
Doodle-oodle-oodle—
“Hello?” My voice sounded like I’d been up all night, smoking cigarettes and drinking whiskey, which was one hundred percent accurate.
“Scooter? Are you okay?”
“Um…” I tried to figure out how to answer his question. Was I okay? I had a wicked hangover and wasn’t too thrilled about being woken up by the sound of my overly perky ringtone, but as far as I could tell, I wasn’t bleeding out or anything. “Yeah. I think so. Why?”
“You were in a car accident!”
Okay, that got my attention.
I sat up and reached for my cigarettes on the nightstand. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were! I just left for work, and the side of your car is all dented in.”
“What?” I jumped up—unlit Camel Light between my teeth, Pixies T-shirt I’d worn the night before twisted around my emaciated body, one sock on and one half off—and darted over to the window.
Getting up that fast gave me the spins. I grasped the window frame to steady myself and yanked open the blinds. There, in the driveway below, was my beloved black Mustang hatchback.
With a dent the size of a trash can lid smashed into the driver’s side door.
Holy shit!
My dad repeated himself, “You got in a wreck last night. Are you okay?”
“No, I didn’t,” I insisted, horror-stricken and racking my foggy brain for details from the night before.
Did I? I can’t fucking remember! Shit! Think, BB! I don’t feel like I got in a wreck. I was with Juliet. Then, I was with Zach. And now, I’m here. Not exactly sure how I got here, but—
“Scooter!”
“Huh? Dad, I didn’t get in a wreck. I swear! I…I parked on the street outside of Juliet’s work last night, so maybe somebody hit my car while I was inside? That has to be it. It was dark when I left, so I must not have noticed.”
You mean, you were too drunk to notice.
“Well, thank God you’re okay. I’m already running late for work. The last thing I need is something else to worry about.”
Work! I spun around and looked at the clock. Nine thirty-five? Fuck! I was supposed to be there five minutes ago!
“Gotta-go-love-you-bye!” I sputtered, tossing my phone into my purse and throwing all the clothes I’d peeled off myself a few hours before back on.
I didn’t pee. I didn’t brush my teeth. I didn’t look in a fucking mirror. I bolted out the door, untied bootlaces flapping behind me in the breeze, and dived behind the wheel of my newly busted-up car.
As I pulled onto the highway, I went to light the cigarette between my teeth, hoping it would quell my impending panic attack, and realized that I still had my retainer in my mouth. It wasn’t lost on me that my priorities were officially fucked. I’d come home so drunk that I hadn’t noticed a giant dent in my car door, yet I’d made sure to remove my makeup, moisturize, and wear my retainer to bed to keep from getting acne or crooked teeth.
I was a horrible, horrible human being.
That’s not true. A horrible, horrible human being would have gone ahead and fucked Zach last night even though she still had feelings for Ken.
Whatever. I do not.
