Last Night

Part 10

I paced back and forth in my bedroom, after I changed out of Emily's spare clothes. My stomach growled softly. Food probably should have been more of a priority, but with the sudden onset of panic about what happened last night and how I managed to get a bruised face and arm, I'd spent most of the day thinking. I was so distracted that I'd barely eaten any of the scrambled eggs and toast that Emily had made for me.

Something was not right. I didn't black out. I'd never blacked out before. This wasn't about me suddenly being old either. The fact that I only felt like I had a moderate hangover, but no memories? That wasn't normal and I'd had quite a lot of experience under my belt when it came to drinking.

I ran my nails through my hair, back and forth, as if to scratch away whatever was blocking my memories. While it was soothing, nothing seemed to help my forgetfulness. The noises from my stomach increased in magnitude as all of the stomach juices finally stopped dancing from my pacing.

"Fine," I snapped and stomped out into the kitchen. How could my body still demand attention when there was something so wrong and pressing that needed to be addressed? Slipping my hand around the fridge handle, I wrenched it open and pulled out a couple containers of leftovers and the water pitcher.

Pouring myself another glass of water, possibly my fifteenth, I took a sip and leaned against the counter while my leftovers heated in the microwave. Something clicked in my brain and I looked down at my glass with wide eyes.

"Okay, so I ordered a water. I was being smart after all the shots. That's a good sign," I whispered, a puzzle piece of the night finally sliding into place. "But I think I shared it with someone. God, I hope it was someone I knew and not some creep. No, I'm sure it was. I don't share stuff with strangers."

I nodded at no one in particular until the ding from the microwave broke my trance.

When my hand gripped the door handle, I froze and stared at the black plastic between my fingers. It seemed so familiar.

"Of course it's familiar, Nicole. It's your own damn microwave. What is wrong with you?" I scolded myself, turning away from the microwave and looking out into the living room. The red light indicating the TV was off caught my attention. My hand released the microwave door handle, sliding down the smooth surface. It dinged at me again because I still never opened the door. Irritated, I reached back blindly for the handle, but my fingers fumbled as they searched for the handle. My breathing hitched just as my hand grasped the handle. Then I released it and ran to my phone.

I dialed Emily and paced the kitchen while I waited for her to pick up.

"Hey Nicole, you feeling any better?" She asked, her tone of voice curious, but also a bit snarky.

"Kinda. Got a question for you."

"Please don't make me come pick you up again for something. I don't run a taxi service."

"No, nothing like that." I answered, rolling my eyes at her dramatics.

"Okay, shoot."

"Just humor me, but you used your car to pick me up last night, right?" I asked as my feet resumed their back and forth flight pattern.

"Of course, I did. I'm not made of money and have a second car hidden somewhere."

"I figured maybe you had borrowed your parents' car or something." I could hear her sighing on the other side as she probably rolled her eyes at me and my 'antics.'

"Why?"

"Sorry, I thought I remembered something from the ride back, but it's still fuzzy." I stopped suddenly and nearly lost my balance. "Wait, you said I was unconscious so you didn't want to leave me home alone, right? How'd you get me from the car into your place? I weigh more than you."