Sweet Tooth [HS]

TWENTY ONE

Later.

When Max woke up it was dark.

And she was alone.

And she felt awful.

She blinked slowly at the ceiling as she came to, and wondered how on earth she had gotten home.

She remembered dancing, and she remembered drinking, and she remembered Harry, and... fuck! Max's whole body shuddered as she cringed at herself.

She had been sick.

In front of Harry.

Max closed her eyes and wished she had never woken up. Wished she could fall into oblivion and never have to deal with the embarassment.

As if she'd decided to get mortally drunk in front of Harry, and then pass out God knows where and have to get taken home by God knows who.

Max groaned to herself, screwing her eyes tightly shut before she turned on her side to check the clock. It was 4:52 am, and she felt wide awake.

Again, she felt a pang of embarassment flood through her, but this time it was coupled with the churn in her stomach that Max knew all too well.

For a second she considered just staying there and wallowing in her own vomit-pool of pathetic misery- but no. Even Max knew that was way too far. Her stomach churned again and Max knew she didn't have long, so she reluctantly pushed up out of bed and made a fast scramble to the bathroom. Thankfully she made it to the toilet in time, and the rest of the alcohol she brought up burned far more than it had on its way down.

After she was finally done throwing her guts up, she kept her head over the toilet bowl and mulled bitterly over her regret. She cursed Lexie for her Lexie specials and cursed Lola for having the party at all and cursed Rory for giving her that deadly bottle of God knows what- but mainly she cursed herself and her stupidity and her incredible ability to just fuck things up.

She wanted to cry but she didn't know if she had the energy, and her throat hurt too much to scream. Instead, Max lay her hot forehead against the cool toilet seat, and tried to think of anything other than last night.

"Max? You in here?" She recognised the voice immediately, but she barely had the energy to lift her head.

She sort of just hummed in reply, but it sounded more like a groan.

"Don't come in," she said meekly, but it was no use. She could hear the door open and footsteps padding into the room, and then she felt a body behind her, felt a slow, soft palm rubbing gently up and down her back.

"Oh, Maxie," Harry said, and his voice was all thick from sleep. "What are we gonna do with you?"

Max closed her eyes, feeling nothing but embarassment for her behaviour at the party and nothing but embarassment that Harry was watching her now, literally using a toilet seat as a pillow. If he didn't want her all dressed up, then surely he was going to be repulsed by this.

"You shouldn't be in here."

"I've seen worse this evening, trust me."

Max groaned. "Did you take me home?"

"Yup."

"And you saw-"

"You ruined my shoes, Mackenzie. It was hard to miss."

She groaned louder.

"Apology accepted."

"Stop laughing at me."

"It's hard not to."

"

"On the sofa. I didn't wanna be in the firing line in case you were sick more," he chuckled and Max's shame only grew. "Are you going to be sick more?" He asked softly.