“Suit yourself, but I’m telling you, you’re missing out.”
“Guess that’s something I’ll just have to live with for the rest of my days.” Her face reddens at my sarcastic remark, and I dig my teeth into my bottom lipto tamp down my amusement. It’s like she’s genuinely offended by my lack of interest. I take the ensuing silence as a sign that my work here is done.
Packing up my guitar, I go to push to my feet but quickly sink back down when my vision goes fuzzy. I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking off the lingering dizziness, and take a second to get my bearings. I have a pleasant buzz going, but I haven’t been overindulging, so this sudden onslaught of vertigo is surprising. Jess throws me a concerned look.
“Everything okay, big guy?” I blink, frozen, while the dual image in front of me merges back into one before I try again.
“I’m good,” I tell her, towering over her while I sway from side to side. “Must’ve had a few more than I realized. Probably best to hit the sack.” As expected, Ted and Chase aren’t happy when I tell them I’m calling it a night.
“Come on, man. We haven’t even sampled the goods yet.” Chase dangles a powder-filled pouch in front of my face in an attempt to sway me. My stomach revolts when the item goes in and out of focus.What the hell is happening to me?
“Sorry, dude,” I say. “I’m feeling a bit off. Rain check, yeah?” Slapping Ted on the shoulder, I ignore their grumblings and painstakingly make my way toward my parking spot. I’m halfway to my truck when my bladder makes itself known, so I move off the man-made path to take care of business. Finding a fairly secluded spot, I’ve just started relieving myself when I’m hit with yet another dizzy spell. This one is more intense than the last, and I have to brace an arm on the tree trunk in front of me to keep myself upright. I give my head a shake in an effort to beat back the fog starting to creep in, but the sharp movement only seems to make matters worse.
“What the fuck?” I whisper while I awkwardly tuck myself away one-handed. I push off the tree and immediately stumble, almost going down. A noise at my back causes my head to whip around, and I squint into the darkness. A moment later, a lone figure emerges from the shadows, and there is Jessica, smiling at me like the damn Cheshire cat.
“Everything alright?” Her voice sounds muffled, like we’re sitting at the bottom of the sea.
“I … I don’t feel right,” I admit, talking around the giant cotton ball in my mouth. This is starting to freak me out. I’ve been drinking long enough to know my own limits, and I haven’t even touched drugs tonight. This is hitting me out of left field.
“You don’t look so good, either. Here, let me give you a hand.” Slipping an arm around my waist she begins steering me toward my vehicle. “Don’t worry,” she tells me in a sugary-sweet voice. “I’m gonna take such good care of you.”
The last thing I remember is thinking that Jessica Cartwright promising to take care of me is a terrible, terrible idea. Then everything goes black.
I wake with a headache of epic proportions, the pounding in my head so intense it makes my stomach churn. I haven’t even opened my eyes yet, but I just know I’ll throw up the second I move a muscle.
Laying as still as possible, I will myself to remember what in the actual fuck happened last night. Everything is a haze. The first thing that comes to mind is my senseless fight with Tessa. Fuck, but arguing seems to be just about the only thing we’re good at these days. It’s my fault, too. I know I don’t deserve her. I’ve been selfish and insensitive, and even though the last thing I want is to hurt her, I just can’t seem to stop myself from lashing out. Why she hasn’t given up on me yet is beyond me. The girl is a damn saint, and the mere thought of her breaking it off with me makes me physically ill, which brings me back to my current predicament.
I mentally prepare myself to make a run for the nearest bathroom before I crack an eye open to take in my surroundings. I find myself in an unfamiliarroom. A faded Magic Mike poster adorns the wall in front of me, right beside an abstract painting of Jesus on the cross. Seems like a strange combo, but who am I to judge? The blinds are drawn, but the bright light filtering through the slats tells me it must be late morning. I grit my teeth and heave myself onto my back, groaning like a dying animal.
When I don’t immediately blow my cookies, I gingerly roll my head to the side and come face to face with the last person I ever wanted to see.
“Rise and shine, hot stuff,” Jessica sing-songs in a volume that has my eardrums ringing while the comforter slips down her torso just low enough to expose a naked breast. I instantly snap my eyes shut, praying with everything I have that the image in front of me is just an illusion. Something my alcohol-soaked brain has conjured up to punish me. But when I work up the courage to take a second look, she’s still there.
I suck much-needed oxygen through my nostrils while I give myself a moment to process, but no matter how I look at this clusterfuck of a situation, there’s one thing I’m absolutely certain of. Jessica Cartwright’s bare nipple winking at me first thing in the morning is not fucking good.No, no, no. Please, God, no. This can’t be happening.
My stomach finally catches up to my gray matter, and I throw off the blanket, all but stumbling to the nearest door in the hope that it leads to the ensuite bathroom and not her Gramma’s connecting bedroom.
I thank my lucky stars when I spot the pristine porcelain bowl in the corner of the room and reach it just in time to empty the contents of my stomach in the most violent and degrading way. I retch until I have nothing left, dry-heaving so hard my whole body aches with exertion. Then I collapse. I simply sit, breathing through the nausea and waiting for the worst to pass.
When I feel like I can stand without starting the process all over again, I stagger to my feet and wrap a towel around my hips. This is my worst nightmare come to life. I’m smart enough to know that waking up in Jessica’s bed can only mean one thing, and damn it, I don’t want it to be true. Am I really capableof this? I had quite a bit to drink last night, and I vaguely remember someone offering me coke, but I’m almost certain I hadn’t taken any. I also recall Jessica putting the moves on me, and I most definitely remember telling her it wouldn’t ever happen. So, how on earth did I end up here? Shit, this will destroy Tessa. She’ll see it as the ultimate betrayal and never forgive me. My whole body breaks out in a cold sweat when I realize just how massively I’ve fucked up.
“Jesus Christ,” I say in a shaky whisper, raking both hands through my hair in frustration as I pace the lengths of the small room. I have to get out of this house. Gulping down some more air, I exit the bathroom, ready to get to the bottom of whatever is going on here. Jessica is lying on her side, face propped up in the palm of her hand and looking mighty pleased with herself.
I’m itching to wipe the smug look off her face. What a fucking bitch. Logically, I know I have no one to blame but myself. But logic has never been my strong suit, and right now, just looking at her fills me with so much rage I have a hard time keeping myself in check. I distract myself by trying to locate my discarded clothing and release a sigh of relief when I spot my boxers at the foot of the bed. There’s a single sock peeking out from under her desk, and my jeans and T-shirt lie in a crumpled heap in the corner of the room.
I almost laugh at the sight of my well-worn Converse neatly lined up just inside the door. Something my father drilled into us kids for most of our lives.
The entryway is a home’s first impression, and I won’t be embarrassed by a messy house.
Funny how he used to be so concerned about people’s perception of us. I wonder now what’s more embarrassing. Some out-of-place footwear, or a grown-ass man stirring up trouble around the local establishments because he couldn’t control his liquor intake?
The fact that I was so out of it last night, I have no recollection of it whatsoever, yet still had the presence of mind to make sure my shoes sit side by side speaks volumes about my upbringing. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what years of conditioning and intimidation tactics do to a person. The sight of Jessica’s lacebra dangling from her bedside lamp brings on another violent wave of nausea and reminds me that I have bigger fish to fry.
“Feeling better, handsome?” she asks, all sugar and innocence.
For some reason, the simple question makes me want to curl into a ball and cry. I have a feeling that, after today, I’ll never be okay again. I clench my teeth and snatch up my underwear, awkwardly trying to pull them on without losing hold of the towel.
“You know, I saw it all last night. I think the time for modesty has passed.”
