Missed Connections

Chapter 60 - If You Can't Take the Heat...

I don't know how long I've been asleep but it's well into evening when I finally open my eyes. No lights are on and the world around me is dusky and blue. Drool is dripping from the corner of my mouth and the pillow next to me is damp. Sexy. I wipe my lips crudely and notice a pasty feeling with a slight taste of old sweetness vaguely reminiscent of the ciders I drank earlier. Gross.

I roll over slightly making my head swim. I stop immediately and groan, letting my head drop back on the pillow. But it's too late. A tang of bile rises in my throat and I find myself jumping up like a shot and running to the bathroom to empty the contents of my stomach. Revisiting my bad decisions in the worst way. Gross several times over.

When I can finally peel myself away from the toilet bowl, I steady myself on the floor. A cold sheen of sweat rings my hairline, but I feel better now that I have evacuated the offending contents. I shiver in the coolness of the air conditioning and realize I am completely naked. Apparently, my hungover mind didn't process the lack of clothes before getting out of bed. And snuggling your boobs close to your chest doesn't remotely cut it compared to having a cozy t-shirt to snuggle in to.

But first you need to get your sorry ass off the floor, Ev. I take a mental inventory of how I am feeling. Feet feel OK, legs slightly jelly-like, tummy settling, arms cold, nipples at attention, and head full of cotton balls. Bladder full! Bladder full! The sudden alarm rings through my consciousness and once again I am moving at light speed to relieve the contents of my body. God, I am never going to make it out of this bathroom at this rate! Louis must think I am crazy.

Louis! My stomach takes another dangerous lurch when I think of him. Something happened, but what? I am having trouble pulling the correct memory fibres from my cotton filled head.

Why, oh why, did I have to get drunk?

The sting of shame hits flushing the skin under my collarbones and traveling upwards towards my cheeks. I hang my head in my hands and it starts to swim again. Another round of vomit threatens to make itself known despite my stomach's recent assertions that there were no contents left to purge.

"Water!" I say aloud.

I steady myself and make the move off the toilet. I slowly grasp at the soap dispenser and have to give it a few attempts before I actually land my hands properly. I lather them up noting a faint shakiness. The words "I will never drink again" ricochet around my head, quickly followed by the sentiment of "Yeah, right!" Well, least I'm not hallucinating an angel and a devil on my shoulders and both sides of my brain are operating.

Once my hands are clean, I splash cool water on my face. I let the droplets form trails down my face as I stare at myself in the mirror. My hair is sticking up in six directions and all of them are sideways. My waterproof mascara is still clinging to my eyelashes, but instead of highlighting the hairs it is causing them to clump drastically. Small black smears are starting to form under my eyes and I look like I could sleep for a week. Not to mention all the rivulets of water clinging to my skin making me look like a drowned rat.

Discouraged, I take the first towel I can find and rub my face clean paying special attention to the racoon eyes. My skin feel taught from the sun and my lips are dry and swollen. I roll my eyes at my reflection but she gives me no sympathy. You brought this on yourself, she says judgementally. Sighing, I dab on some face cream. Then, fighting my gag reflex, I do a thorough brush of my scuzzy teeth and tongue to purge the taste of vomit. Meh. That will do for now, I think as I head out of the bathroom.

"Fuck, my water!" I step back and grab the mug on the sink. I fill it to the brim and gulp down the contents. The cool liquid is refreshing on my tongue so I replenish the glass and drink down a second serving. The water seems to jiggle in my tummy as I return to the bedroom in search of something to wear.