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Eleven
I know when it’s time to shut up, and this is one of them. Madison looks pissed off and I’m not entirely sure if it’s because I’m drunk or what. I decide to try to pay attention to her cues and do as she says as much as I can.
I’m not in the right frame of mind to be making any decisions anyways, so I go along with whatever she says and wherever that she leads me. She has my arm gripped in her hands and we’re briskly walking down the street in the direction of where we both live.
My feet are trying to keep up with her fast-moving feet as well, but I stumble, and my palms are in front of me to break my fall. Only my arms failed me, and my face broke the fall.
I watch Madison’s feet stay still as I groan and move my face to face her feet. I roll over onto my back and look up at her. Her hands are on her hips and she sneers down at me.
“I’m not sure why you’re so mad at me?” I say, lightly touching my nose. “Oh man, I think that my nose is broke. Actually, my face is broken. Ow!”
“Why am I mad at you? I’m not really sure why you are asking me that question,” she straightens her arms and balls her fists.
“I’m asking, because I don’t know. Oh my God! My face feels like it’s on fire! Isn’t alcohol supposed to make me numb?”
“Your stupidity is making you numb,” she huffs out. “Why am I even still here!” she steps over me and then walks out of my eyesight leaving me laying on the sidewalk, alone.
I’m stillin my clothing from yesterday.
I’m face down on my bed and the sliver of light coming through from the blinds in my bedroom.
How the hell did I get home last night?
When did I leave the bar?
Why does my face feel like someone took a baseball bat to it?
I try to sit up, but my body is achy, and my head is pounding.
“Fuck! What did I drink last night?” I say to myself rolling over onto my side on the bed.
Bam! Bam! Bam!I’m not entirely sure if that’s the heartbeat bashing around in my head or if someone is at the front door. But when the same sound happens again, I can tell that it’s the front door.
“Come in!” I shout from the bedroom, and even that was hurting me. The pounding on the front door came again and I knew that it wouldn’t stop until I answered the door. I brace myself as I push up from my position on the bed and wobble on my feet as I take my first steps since waking up. With each foot placed in front of the other, I can feel every fiber in my body screaming at me as I approach the front door.
Just as I place my hand on the doorknob, more pounding ensues, and I pulled the door open to see Madison standing on the other side looking pissed. The same expression that she has on her face right now, flashes into my mind. Was that from last night?
“Fucking finally,” she says pushing past me.
I shut the door and slowly turn toward her. She’s looking in my fridge and comes out carrying some orange juice. She grabs two glasses and fill them, pushes one towards me and then gulps her own.
“Is everything okay? Listen, if you’ve been trying to call me, my phone is,” I look around the space, “around here somewhere.”
“Well, a part of me is happy that you made it home, the other part of me hoped that you were still passed out on the sidewalk where I left you,” she says.
“So, I was with you last night?” I ask.
“Not all night. I came around when you were likely blackout drunk and then you fell at some point and I left you there.” she explains.
“You, you left me there? What if I was to get run over? What if some rabid animal decided to chew on my leg?” I say dramatically as she laughs running her hand through her red mane.
“Last night sucked. I don’t like drinking and you know it,” she says.
“I know you don’t, but if you could just understand my shitty day yesterday, you would see some reason behind my drinking last night. I got fucked over last night,” I say in means of an explanation.
“I don’t think that I can listen to any of this right now, I’m sorry if I’m being closed minded, but the drinking and how drunk you were last night, I’m just not sure this is something that I want, that I need in my life. My family is still recovering, will be recovering for a long time.”
“I told you that I’m not an alcoholic,” I say firmly, pushing through the pain in my head as I straighten my posture, or at least I hope I am.
