Autumn Flame (Seasons #2 )

Chapter 14: A Storm Over Manhattan

I dream that my blender has grown to the size of an elephant and is blending me into a smoothie.

I wake up with a startle.

Where am I?

Purple silk slides like water around my naked torso. I lift myself and clutch my head.

Mother of mushrooms, that hurts. Radioactive beer lived up to its name, alright.

The inside of my head feels like the blender from my dream caught me.

I look around in the morning light. Next to me is a girl who is fast asleep and snoring up a symphony from hell.

I chuckle. At least I know where the blender came from.

With a start, I recognize Melanie and the night comes flooding back. I clutch my chest. My shirt is gone. I lift the sheet and... yep I'm in my boxers. Where the hell are my pants? Oh, no. Oh, no.

I search for my clothes on the floor. Melanie's dress is on the floor on the other side of the bed.

I tip-toe out of the room and gently closed the door. Even though it sounds like she's running a three-man construction facility in there and there's no way she'll hear me, I pad softly to the fridge. My feet feel cold on the tile as I find water and chug as much as possible.

Step one, keep the water down. Step two, find something to eat. Step three, keep that down as well.

My options are a jar of pickles and a Chinese takeout box. I sniff the rice inside, but I can't tell how long it's been in there, and decide not to risk it.

I shut the fridge and notice, for the first time, the litter along Mel's kitchen counter. I pick up an opened wine bottle. And then another, and another. Few clear bottles of vodka sit empty or almost emptied. An orange bottle of some kind of prescription I don't recognize has been spilled with corks, caps, and random takeout food wrappers.

The creak of a door startles me. Man, am I jumpy today?

Melanie stands in the doorway. Her hair is disheveled, and she's wrapping a silky robe around herself. "Good morning," she says with a hoarse voice.

I press my lips together, seeing her in a new light. You hide the pain well, I want to say to her. Until it spills out of you. Instead, I ask, "Last night, did we...?"

I make a weird motion from me to her, and she frowns, trying to figure out what I'm saying.

Her eyes widen. "Oh, that's what—um, no? I don't think so? I'm not sure."

I scratch my neck and look away. "I don't think so, either." Heat creeps up my neck. I grab a few of the bottles off the counter and start piling them into a large trash bin by the counter.

"Leave those," Melanie commands me.

I glance up. Her face is pinched, her shoulders tense. "It's not a big deal, "I say. "I can get these for you."

She snatches the bottles out of my hands and holds onto them almost protectively. "I said, leave it."

"I was just trying to help," I say.

"I don't want you to," she snaps. "I don't need your help," she says, in a softer tone, looking away. She sets the bottles down on the counter and stares at her shaky hands. She clutches them together and hides them in the sleeves of her robe.

"Mel," I say, reaching for her. "You can talk to me."

"About what?" she scoffs. "You don't understand. You can't. No one does. You just stand there looking at me with pity, just like those people at the party last night. Leave me alone. I'm fine."