More Issues Than Vogue | ✔️

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Usually when I drink, I feel impeccable the next day. For a reason I can't explain nor should complain about, I have the ability to wake up after a night of drinking with no more than a dry mouth. Sure, a lot of people take this as a sign that I didn't consume as much alcohol as I could have the night before, but I definitely know what it feels like to be drunk.

However, I can count with the fingers on one hand the many times I've been severely hung-over. If you asked, I'd hold up the middle and index fingers. That's two, if you didn't know. The first finger would represent the morning after I had celebrated graduating college. After four stress filled years of coffee, all-nighter's, thousands of written pages, and eight bookshelves worth of books, I was finally set free.

Now, when I say I celebrated, that's literally what happened. It was a wild night that consisted of polka dotted pajamas, an entire bottle of vodka, popcorn, and my ever-worshiped Mean Girls DVD. By the time Lindsay Lohan had been voted prom queen, I had already finished the whole handle to which my liver furiously fought back. The next morning, after every drop of alcohol had ended up in the toilet, Madison had to physically drag me into the shower to which she had soaped me down with my clothes on because I was too weak to take them off.

Yes, she had pictures on file as a reminder that it was a morning I'd never forget. She probably has plans of showing that at my wedding or funeral, because she's twisted like that.

Anyway, this brings us to what the second finger represents - this morning marks the only other time in my life I have woken up hung-over. As I lay here with my head pounding and my body throbbing, I can't help but feel nostalgic of the girl that woke up hung-over about a year ago. She wouldn't have gotten drunk at a club. She wouldn't have let emotions get in the way of her work and it sure as hell wouldn't have been over a guy. When I lifted one eyelid open and peered around my room, I noticed the little things that irked me. My keys on the dresser that should have been hanging on the hook next to the front door, the black dress, heels and purse scattered on the ground, and the miscellaneous pieces of my life that I had carelessly thrown around the room as a reminder of the night I'd had.

I heard a buzzing noise and when I reach for my phone, a picture of a clearly drunken Tony flashed across the screen. From the bloodshot eyes, shot glass in hand, and dress shirt he had on, I could tell this was from last night. I don't remember taking this picture let alone setting it as his caller ID.

"Hello?" My voice croaked when I spoke.

"You too?" Tony's voice sounded just as hoarse as mine.

"Guilty," I responded.

"I think I'm paralyzed," I recognized Bessa on the other end of the line.

"You guys are such babies," Kevin's voice now joined in on a four way call.

I could imagine Tony rolling his eyes as he groaned. "You're just jealous because while we had the time of our lives, you were stuck as DD."

"I didn't have a choice once you and Bessa started making out in the booth and Haley disappeared for like, an hour," Kevin argued back. Instinctively, I felt bad that we had left Kevin as our babysitter. If only I could remember where I'd been during that hour I was apparently missing, I could have said something to make him feel better.

But alas, I don't remember anything after leaving my apartment to go to the club. I vaguely recall even hopping into bed without brushing my teeth or wiping off the mess of makeup melted on my face.

"Hold on," I paused. "You two made out?"

"Ugh, please tell me that's a joke," Bessa mumbled.

"Hell if I know, I don't remember shit from last night," Tony answered.