Never Summer Again

Chapter Twenty Two - The Runaway

Score: Runaway - Ed Sheeran

Lydia

Of course, there is a line for the women's toilets already. Like, in every situation, where more than three women are gathered in one place. I suppress another hiccup and try to think of a Plan B before I am sick in the hallway.

How humiliating! How did I get into this state?

After a whole day of binge drinking on an empty stomach, my rational mind smirks.

I ignore her, which has become my regular response to her recently. 

I wander around, knowing that I can't possibly wait the line, and see a flight of stairs at the end of the hallway. This is a hotel, there probably are other toilets on the next floor, my drunken mind manages to conclude, and I head for the stairs.

I stumble to the next floor, tripping on the steps, but managing not to fall over somehow, and, sure enough, there are toilets down the corridor and to the right. I reach the ladies' room and immediately head for a stall, not able to hold myself anymore. As soon as the door closes behind me, I am on my knees, retching.

I curse myself for drinking all of this champagne. It doesn't taste nearly as good coming out, then it did going in. I know my makeup is ruined, I can feel my eyes tear up, as I pour my soul out into the toilet. I wish Alex was here, to hold my hair back.

I hear someone come in, as I gag and feel instantly ten times worse. I really don't want anyone to see me like this. Luckily, the girls who have just come in don't seem to mind what's going on in my stall, as they go into the one next to it to do some coke. I can hear them sniffing, then laughing, before they leave the toilet.

I am relieved that I am alone again.

After what seems like forever, I finally stop throwing up and lean on the toilet to catch my breath. I feel horrible.

No, horrible is an understatement. I feel worse than horrible, and guilty, as I have brought this upon myself. I try to stand up on my feet but am sick again, so I bend over and let it all out.

Oh, God, when will it stop?

Finally, I am able to stand up and walk out of the stall. Thankfully, no one's entered the toilets after the two snotty girls, which is good, because the last thing I need right now is to be even more embarrassed than I already am.

I stand in front of the counter and look in the mirror. I look like a complete and utter mess, but I feel ten times worse.

I splash some cold water on my face, further damaging my make-up, which I paid hundreds of pounds for, and I rinse my mouth. I wish I had some gum, or some tissues in that useless little purse.

I can't go back to the party downstairs like this. I look horrendous and I don't think I can make it through. All I want is to get something greasy to eat, and maybe a coffee or a cup of tea, and go to sleep. And then sleep until I forget what a mess I am right now.

I contemplate calling Patrick and telling him to come pick me up so that we can go straight to the Rosewood, but I can't. He'll be so pissed off. And he'd have all the right to be, for me ruining prom.

I consider briefly getting a taxi and going straight to the Rosewood to wait for him there but dismiss the idea almost instantly. I will have to face him when he gets there if I go, and I don't want to. I need to sober up, I want to be able to think straight, when I talk to him, there are so many things we need to talk about.

I also toy with the idea of calling Alex, or Gloria to ask them to come and save me from my misery, but I don't want to ruin their night, either. They are all probably downstairs at the party having fun right now, at their prom, at our prom, which was supposed to be one of the most fun nights for us, to celebrate our seven years of being together. I have already ruined it for myself, I cannot ruin it for my friends, too.