Taste of Ms. Alexander

FOURTEEN

POV: AMANDA "ASIA" ALEXANDER

Wednesday | 8:26 AM

An agonizing headache throbbed relentlessly across my forehead as I pried myself off the cold bathroom floor. The disorienting blur of last night still clouded my memory. I couldn't remember when I'd fallen asleep, or the number of times I'd emptied my insides into the toilet. All I knew was that I was a mess. My clothes were stained, evidence of my reckless night sprawled across my chest and down to my jeans. The stench of stale liquor, mingled with the sour remnants of food and bile, filled the small bathroom air, suffocating me.

I slumped back down onto the floor, desperate for a moment of relief, but each little movement caused my head to split open even further. I cursed myself again for mixing white and dark liquor like an amateur. My mind was still tangled in the mess that was Spragga, allowing me not to forget. He wasn't worth it, never was, but somehow, I let him drag me back down into his chaos. I should've known better. I always should, but like an idiot, I let myself be swept up in it. Looks like I've been digging this hole my whole life.

Somehow, I found the strength to pull myself up, grabbing onto the face basin for support. The woman in the mirror was unrecognizable, a mere ghost of myself. My wig was gone, vanished without a trace. The stocking cap was probably along with it. My hair was a tangled mess of stale cornrows, a painful reminder of the night's disaster. Maybe it was time to change, to move on, to let it go. However right now, I just wanted to feel human again. I gripped the edge of the sink tighter as the wave of pain in my head intensified, threatening to push me back into darkness. I closed my eyes, pressing my fingers to my temples and massaging them in slow circles. It helped, just a little.

I turned the faucet on, splashing cold water onto my face in an attempt to shake off the fog of the night. The droplets bounced back, settling into the basin, turning the water murky. The remnants of foundation and powder mixed with the water, leaving streaks of deep brown behind. I couldn't help but think how much more of a mess I was making, adding to the chaos already around me.

I opened the mirrored cabinet with shaky hands, searching for the makeup remover wipes. After what felt like an eternity of fumbling, I found them and wiped away the residue from my face. I didn't care about the time, but I had to pull myself together, at least enough to function. Once my skin felt cleaner, I dragged myself into the shower. The warmth of the steam filled the small space, wrapping me in a momentary sense of comfort. However, even the simple act of scrubbing my skin felt harsh, my movements were more aggressive than usual as I tried to get rid of every trace of last night. Every thought of what had happened made me cringe and made my stomach turn. The scent of vomit was still there, clinging to me, and I couldn't scrub it away fast enough. The disgust twisted in my gut, but somehow, I held it together. I brushed my teeth furiously, trying to scrub the sour taste from my mouth, as if from my very being.

When I finally stepped out of the shower, my body felt like it had been beaten, but at least I smelled like Dove shea butter and warm vanilla. It was a small victory in the middle of a larger storm. I staggered to my bedroom, the headache still pounding away like a drum in my skull. My feet felt heavy, each step a struggle to hold myself together. I knew there were ibuprofen pills in the bedside table. I reached for the bottle with trembling hands, but when I shook it, nothing rattled inside. I cursed under my breath. 

"Ughhh," I groaned in frustration and tossed the bottle across the room in anger. The pain wasn't easing. It was only getting worse. My head was on fire, and I needed relief, any kind of release. My only hope now was the shop across the street. If it was open, maybe I could find something to stop the madness.

I staggered into the kitchen, desperate for some sense of direction. I glanced at the clock, searching for any clue about what time it was. It was 9:00 a.m., and if memory served me right, my first class started at 9:15. I didn't even care if I was late. I only cared about getting this pain to stop. There was no way I was going into work looking like that. There was just no way.