𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 ✓

NINE

-

About one and a half hours later, I find myself laughing hysterically at something Tim said, and Joyce next to me glares at me in confusion. I rarely ever laughed as loudly in front of the team as I am now. Erin looks even more uncomfortable, and I conclude she simply hates people - understandable. As I glance over to Sebastian, who is also drinking, his white shirt blinding my sensitive eyes, I gulp as I realize that the lighting in here makes the tee practically see-through. 

"What?" he sneers upon seeing that I'm staring at him, and I arch my brow. 

"Nothing," I manage to get out.

"You should maybe... stop with the drinks," Joyce suggests, and my face jolts in her direction. I huff.

"Nu-uh," I disagree heavily, twisting my empty cocktail glass in my hands. The clinking of the crushed ice adds more noise to the unbearable level of distraction my brain has to suffer through here. Loud chatting, glasses clinking, people laughing loudly, everything is so damn loud. 

"Yu-uh," Joyce counters, mocking my tone. "No more drinks for Charlotte."

"More drinks for Charlotte," I correct her, and Sebastian to my left scoffs loudly, which makes me turn to him. A bit too quickly: I start to see stars and the room begins to spin. Okay, maybe it wasn't a good idea to drink so much when all you're used to is the occasional glass of wine with Kelly when watching FRIENDS.

"I suggest she goes home," Tim's voice drowns out the other's, and I shake my head, as if it would clear my mind. It makes everything worse.

"Good idea," Joyce agrees, and nudges my side, making me realize how unstable I am right now.

"No, the party's just getting started," I blurt out, and everyone looks at me like I was crazy. My gaze drifts from left to right, only to see one arched brow after the other. 

"Please, Charlotte," Erin sighs, "You're drunk."

An agreeing hum travels through the group of colleagues, and I grunt in disappointment. This cannot be true. Even now, I am a party pooper. Look at their faces, Charlie.

"Who's taking her home?" Tim asks loudly, and no one moves a muscle. I gulp. No one cares about me enough to leave this group for half an hour? To my surprise, Sebastian gets up and looks at me expectantly. My gaze shoots up to his, and I see him and his furrowed brow. One clear version, and one blurry. Okay, you're drunk. SO drunk.

"Come on," Golden Boy encourages me to get out of my seat, but his tone is rather sharp. He is clearly annoyed by me, just like the others. 

"Thank you, Sebastian," Joyce smiles at him, and I see how his gaze turns softer when he looks at her, and all of the sudden, he is no longer the annoying, sarcastic colleague. He is the charming, cocky colleague that everyone swoons over. Except for me. 

"Bye, you guys," I mumble almost inaudibly. "See you at work."

A collective muttering of Goodbyes accompanies my wonky attempt at getting up from the bench. I feel one strong hand grasping my arm and pulling me up. 

On the way out, I bump into at least three people, and Sebastian apologizes in my name every single time. My head is spinning, and I taste a weird mix of alcohol, lemons, and acid on my tongue. I might be throwing up tonight, and I hope I won't do it in front of him. I gulp down the weird taste and grasp onto his jacket that he's put on again. Otherwise, I would definitely fall over.

"God, Emmons, you stink," he says when we reach the outside. The night air is cool, very comfortable on my tingling skin, and I take a deep breath to get rid of the dizziness. And my fuzzy, mushy brain.