It's difficult to find the way everything fits into place once it's broken, even if a surgeon gives you a pretty significant first push. Alexia's recovery is progressing with hope. Her knee is responding well to rehabilitation, but she doesn't feel...
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The party was over for me. The dizziness had stopped, and the buzz from the alcohol had turned into anxiety, sadness, and fatigue. It's not like I hadn't tried to keep up with the party; I had made an effort to keep drinking with the football players and my friends, who had turned a few beers into drinking challenges. But my body had decided for me that it was enough. Even my throat refused to swallow willingly. My digestive system had rebelled against me, and now we lived separate lives.
I said goodbye to the people I could. Now I could walk alone and had to take advantage of the opportunity. Over time, some had left, and others had opted for other activities, like joining a massive conga line in the VIP room of the club or sneaking into the lower rooms to fool around with the crowd. All of them, in the subgroup of games at the bar, had promised me several times, very sincerely, that they would say goodbye to the others for me as they appeared, and for that reason, I decided to leave peacefully.
I left the VIP room and headed straight to the cloakroom. I took the jacket with the number on a piece of paper that I had kept in my bra and wrapped myself in that warm faux fur garment, protecting my body numbed by the party from the horrible cold of that January night.
I walked a few meters. The best thing about this club, without a doubt, was its close proximity to a taxi stand. I waited my turn behind a couple of guys who had arrived a few minutes before me, and shortly after, without giving me enough time to rub my arms to regain warmth, a black car with yellow doors stopped in front of me with the sign in green.
"Good night!" I greeted as I got in. The taxi driver responded in the same way, though not too enthusiastically. I couldn't blame him. Nights like that in Barcelona could be exhausting, and although I was now sober, there was no doubt that the man would notice that I had drunk everything I wanted and more. "To Plaça Catalunya, please. From there, I'll guide you."
Without saying another word, the taxi driver released the handbrake just as a blonde whirlwind burst through the door opposite to where I was. I looked at her in bewilderment. The taxi driver observed us through the rearview mirror, checking if the night had become even more difficult for him with a silly argument in his backseat.
"Alexia?" My tone wasn't pleasant. That was clear, but it gave the man enough clues that the woman who had just entered his taxi wasn't just any unknown crazy person. Crazy, yes, but familiar, at least. "Can you tell me what you're doing?"
"Drive, please," she said to the driver, completely ignoring my anger. "To the address she told you."
"To the address she told you?" I scoffed. "You're losing it. Get out of the car right now."
The dark eyes of the taxi driver appeared again in the rearview mirror, catching the attention of the football player.
"Continue," he said without further ado. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the seat, looking out the window without saying a word for a few seconds. How did she always manage to get her way? "There were no more cars at the stand. We'll share this one. It's cold, and I don't want to wait outside."
