Jennie
It seems my head awakens before the rest of my body. Even in my dream, I can feel it pounding against my skull, painful and unrelenting. Dream Jennie pulls a Tylenol out of thin air and pops it into her mouth. Unfortunately, things are never that easy for conscious Jennie.
I groan and roll over, not daring to open my eyes. I can see the sunlight glowing behind my eyelids, the hot rays all around me. I make a mental note to pin a blanket up over my window tonight. That perky fucking sun has simply got to go.
I toss an arm over my eyes and lay that way a few more minutes. Then I hear a door open and close from somewhere beyond the bedroom and my whole body tenses. Quickly, I rip my arm away, squinting against the light, and I'm mortified and astonished to discover I'm not in my bedroom. I bolt upright, regretting that move the instant it happens, and rip the covers away from my body with lightning speed. I gasp. I have on no pants. No pants. A big, wrinkled T-shirt with no pants!
But I check and oh, thank heavens, I'm still wearing panties. My heart rate slows a bit as the previous night's events come creeping back to me. Yet as my heart rate slows, my face glows redder and redder, the blush creeping all the way down my chest. I'm beyond mortified.
Did I seriously drunk dial Lisa? And then proceed to throw up while I was on the phone with her? That only happens in nightmares and cheap, floozy comedies, right? Right?
Wrong.
I groan and collapse back onto the bed, another move I regret, and slowly mull over the previous night. I'd thrown up in Lisa's ear, and she'd come to pick me up. Then, I angrily interrogated her until she promised not see Irene again, though I'm actually pretty pleased about that part. But then I got the brilliant idea to throw myself at her. I didn't plan to follow through - in fact, I'm certain I wouldn't have. I was still so angry, but I was drunk and upset and wanted to test her a bit. She knew I was drunk - I threw up in her ear for crying out loud! - so that was a true test of her character. Had she been willing to sleep with me, then I would've known she was a complete schmuck who was ready and willing to use me no matter what... so long as it benefited her. She's lucky she pulled back or else a swift kick to her balls would've surely helped her see the light of reason.
But now, in the light of day, I regret my actions. It was a quick and easy way to find out if she really was as deplorable as she was coming across, and for that I'm not sorry. I feel better knowing she has a good conscience buried somewhere deep. But do I look for the good in everybody this way, or am I just eager to find it in her? And why? I don't care if she's a good person. After Mino's wedding I won't see her again. She can fuck and shag until the cows come home, as my mother would say - it won't make a bit of difference to me then.
But I'm embarrassed. My rationale is shaking her head at me, sorely disappointed. I'd thrown myself at Lisa, and for all she knew, I was willing to give myself to her right there on the bathroom counter. I'd come across as a sloppy drunk, one without a trace of self-respect for miles and miles. I'd placed myself with all those other girls... all to test this person who'd made a bet on me. What was I thinking?
I hear another door open and close and then footsteps, yet Lisa doesn't come into the room. I lay in bed a few minutes to get my bearings and will my headache away. I feel nauseous again, but it eventually passes. When I roll over to finally clamber out of bed, I'm surprised to find a glass of water and two white pills sitting on the bedside table. I pop them into my mouth without a second thought and stumble out of bed, pulling on my too-tight jeans. It suddenly occurs to me that I'm wearing her shirt again, and I stick my nose into the sleeve, inhaling deeply. Damn, she smells good. I'll take her smell as a hangover remedy any day.
I open the door a crack, peeking into the hallway. I wish there was a bathroom in this room so I wouldn't have to risk bumping into her before I get a chance to check my appearance. I have no idea what I look like but I know a night of hard drinking is never good for my skin. Or hair. Or eyes.
I don't have time to fret over this - a sudden wave of nausea rolls through me again, sending me flying for the bathroom before I can even check the other end of the hall for his presence. I slam the door shut, sending the wall scones rocking, and barely make it to the toilet before I'm retching and dry-heaving. My stomach muscles ache and scream in protest, still sore from my performance last night.
The dry heaves come and come and come. Why the hell am I still trying to vomit if there's nothing left inside of me? I make the most awful noises while hugging the toilet like my first-born. I've never been so thankful as in this moment that Lisa is such a neat freak. I'm unbearably happy that her toilet is pristine, noting with glee that the water is even blue with some kind of heavily scented, PineSol cleaner smell.
Then, with one knock at the door, all of my dignity, all of my pride, comes crashing down around me, a useless puddle under my bare, nauseated feet. I want to speak, to tell her to leave, but I don't have it in me. I send a silent prayer instead.
Dear God...I promise I will never, ever, ever get drunk again. Just please make Lisa go away. Please God...
