Part 15 (1/2)
”No, no, no.” She takes my arms and backs up a step. ”You want back on that wagon, but you don't want it to buckle under your weight.” She hooks an arm around me and leads me to the bathroom. ”Shower and change. We're drinking and shopping and by tonight you won't remember his name.”
I take a shaky breath and blow it out. ”Okay.” Before I shut the bathroom door, I turn to her. ”How's Seth, or Shane or what's-his-name that you met at the club?”
”Who?” She smirks and giggles. ”Over. He has no idea what to do with that thing between his legs. Which is unfortunate, because it's a nice one.”
I roll my eyes and shut the door, thinking about how nice yours is. Too bad I'll never get to know how well you use it.
Chapter Thirteen.
I'm so drunk I can't see straight.
”One more,” Shannon urges. ”Don't be a p.u.s.s.y.”
”I can't feel my tongue.” The words seem to echo somewhere inside my head. I'm not sure I said them aloud.
She laughs though, so I guess I did. ”Do you remember his name?”
”Yeah. s.h.i.+tface.” I laugh so hard, my elbow slips out from under me, sending my head, which was perched on my hand, lurching toward the bar. It hits, but I don't feel anything.
”Rach!” Shannon tugs me up off the bar. ”That had to hurt like h.e.l.l.”
”I'm numb.” I laugh again.
”She's not driving, right?” The bartender eyes me like I'm his one-way ticket to jail. He has nice blue eyes. Unlike your brownish-black ones that drill straight through mine.
”s.h.i.+tface,” I say again. ”He's such a s.h.i.+tface.”
”No,” Shannon tells the bartender. ”She's not driving. Can I get a cup of ice?”
He sits the ice down and she wraps some in a napkin and holds it to my forehead. ”He really did a number on you, huh?”
”Who?” I pluck an ice cube out of the gla.s.s and suck on it.
”s.h.i.+tface.”
”I love s.h.i.+tface, and I hate him. Mostly, I want to f.u.c.k him.”
”Hey!” She jolts her head back in surprise. ”Did that just come out of your mouth, Rachael DeSalvo?”
”h.e.l.l yeah it did.” My head starts aching through the numbness making my train of thought derail. ”Ouch.” I press my fingers against the cold, wet skin under the napkin Shannon's holding.
”Let's get you home, nympho.”
I laugh and then cringe. ”I think my head's swelling.”
The drive home is a blur. Shannon tugs me out of the car and shoves me in the door of our apartment where I crash on the couch. My phone chirps, but I ignore it. My fingers wouldn't be able to function to answer it anyway.
”Here. Hold this to your head.” She hands me a plastic zip-lock bag filled with ice. ”How do I stop this thing from driving me crazy?” She's pressing b.u.t.tons on my phone.
”Throw it against the wall. Who cares?” My mom's face travels through my consciousness long enough to be irritating, then your face does. ”s.h.i.+tface,” I mumble. Then I close my eyes and focus on breathing and not puking.
I wake up on the couch with my stomach rolling and lurching and make a mad dash for the bathroom. After puking my stomach inside-out, I notice the giant, black and blue goose egg in the middle of my forehead. ”Shannon!”
She mutters something from behind her closed bedroom door. I shove it open and throw myself down on her bed. ”What the h.e.l.l happened to my head?”
She opens one eye. ”You got drunk and whacked it on the bar.”
”How did that happen? I don't remember anything.” I'm having an eerie dej vu moment of another night I ended up blacking out.
”You were drunk, Rach. No big deal. You had fun.” She turns away and stuffs a second pillow over her head. ”Now leave me alone until at least eleven.”
I push her shoulder and stand to leave. ”Hey,” she says, ”your phone's on my nightstand.”
I grab it and don't think anything of it until I see the light flas.h.i.+ng with a new message in my inbox. I try not to look at it as I make coffee in the kitchen, but fail. When I go to my inbox, there are several messages between you and me from last night. My heart stops for a few seconds. I don't remember sending you any emails last night. s.h.i.+t. What did I say? The first two are from you: From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Can we talk?
Rachael, I'd like to talk. Is this a good time to call?
From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Not a good time?
Since I haven't heard from you, I'll try to get in touch tomorrow.
I miss you, Rachael.
From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: I'm an idiot.
I got drunk off my a.s.s tonight and talked about you non-stop. My best friend thinks I'm stupid for not s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g your brains out, and if I don't tell you how I feel, she's going to drag me back to that hotel by my hair.
Oh. My. G.o.d. I did not write this. ”Shannon! I'm going to kill you!”
The lock on her bedroom door clicks. ”You'll thank me someday.”
”s.h.i.+t! I can't believe you did this to me!”
”Read them all.”
From: [email protected] To: [email protected] RE: I'm an idiot.
I'm guessing if Rachael's that drunk then this is from the best friend, Shannon. Is that right? Is she okay? What did she say? I want her back here as much as you do. More. How do I get her to come back to me?
From: [email protected] To: [email protected] RE: I'm an idiot.
Quit doing stupid s.h.i.+t that freaks her out. She's not that kind of girl. She doesn't have s.e.x to have s.e.x. If she loves and trusts you, she'll be with you. So earn her trust.
From: [email protected] To: [email protected] RE: I'm an idiot.