Keep Dreaming

The Hangover - Erin's POV

I woke up to the high-pitched beep of my alarm, and rolled over lazily in a half-arsed attempt to put an end to its incessant blaring. After a few minutes of scrabbling around for my phone, (from which the alarm was sounding) I found it. My head was pounding, and my itchy eyes indicated that I had not removed my makeup. I ran my tongue over my teeth and felt the unfamiliar, unclean graininess, suggesting I made a fairly slapdash job of brushing them yesterday. I groaned and sat up groggily, wanting to go back to sleep, but knowing I had to get up for work. Standing up was enough to churn my stomach, making  me feel violently nauseous. I suppressed the urge to be sick there and then, gritting my teeth and digging my nails into my palm as I balled my hands, pressing so hard I thought they might bleed.
I attempted to think back to the night before, how I got into this state - but I must have still been drunk with how foggy my memory was. While a cold shower would sober me up some, I cursed myself for being so stupid. It was a cold shower, not a miracle worker. I knew already that I would feel like pure and utter shite: it was going to be a long, hard day at work...
Wait, at work?
I only ever set my alarm when I had work... but it was a Saturday. I wondered momentarily if I set an alarm by accident - it would be odd, though; I'd never done that on my drunk escapades previously. I picked up my phone to check the date and, yes, it was a Saturday. Another thing - a text from Jack Harkness:
"Did you get home alright?"
A memory flickered in my mind, but I couldn't quite grasp it. I sat back down on my bed and took a deep breath before opening my phone, hoping to find some evidence as to why everything felt so... off.
A text from an unknown number surprised me.
0295224781
"How are you love? Hope Owen didn't piss you off too much. I promise he can be okay sometimes. Xx"
Owen... another spark in my memory: I was getting close, but still no cigar. I pushed my hair back, nausea dissipating and confusion taking its place. I checked my camera roll, and sure enough, there was Jack Harkness, taking a selfie with... oh god, a blacked out me, slumped over on the couch.
I threw the phone down on my bed and buried my head in my knees. I was beyond embarrassed, but wanted to be proactive about fixing this (I was in shock that I was abiding the coping strategies that I gave to others as a therapist; it wasn't often I listened to my own nuggets of wisdom). I picked my phone up and looked at Jack's phone number, my shaky finger hovering over it for a minute or two, before pressing the "call" button.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Jack. It's Erin. I just wanted to say... I am so sorry.."
"You should be! You're late."
Jack's tome was lighthearted, but I was confused as I desperately racked my brain for answers.
"Uhm, I'm sorry but... late for...?"
"Work?"
"Yes, I have an alarm set but... I didn't organise a session with you for today, did I?"
Jack laughed a loud, genuine belly laugh.
"Wow, you are more hung over than I thought you would be last night! You are a wildcard, Ms. Evans."
I laughed uncertainly, still not completely sure what was going on.
"Erin?"
"Yes?"
"You work for Torchwood now. Remember? Part time counsellor, full time agent."
I squinted my eyes and bit my lip, vague wisps of memory coming back to me.
"Oh... shit... oh yeah."
Jack laughed again, and this time I joined in, although a tad more sheepishly.
"Look, take your time getting ready and come in at 10.30. We'll see you then."
He hung up and I checked my watch.
08:30
I let out a breath of relief, knowing I'd have plenty of time to get ready.
I stripped and hopped in the cold shower as quickly as I could. The feeling when the cool water hit my clammy skin was surprisingly refreshing - so much so that I stood face-up, letting the cool drops hit my face. It may not have actually cleaned the makeup off of my face, but I felt so much better.
It wasn't often that I got drunk like this; no, I did most of my heavy drinking in my late teens and early twenties. This was embarrassing. Getting obliterated as a young thing can be funny, something to look back on and laugh. As an adult, though - a proper adult, not the kind of grown up you believe yourself to be at 18 or 19 - this was just incredibly pathetic. These days, I only got this bad was when I was either incredibly nervous, or in a very bad place mentally (hence I tended to avoid pubs when I was in these sort of states). Whatever events unfolded last night must have left me pretty upset, I figured. I decided I'd ask Gwen to fill me in on all of it; she seemed to be a good storyteller, and too blunt to leave out any of the gory details. Yes, I'd get her to tell me - on the condition that I would be feeling less delicate.
After the shower, getting dressed and forcing a cup of tea and slice of dry toast down my gullet, I was feeling worlds better than I had been earlier in the morning. I grabbed my coat, wallet and keys, muttering a quick goodbye to my cat before shutting the door. I hopped on my run-down scrap of metal and pedalled furiously towards the bay. It was only 09:30, and I knew I didn't have to be in until an hour later, but I felt awful for waking up late this morning. My curly hair blew in my face and I could feel the salty grains graze my lips as the wind whipped my face. A new chapter, I told myself. A new chapter, a new start, a new me.