Taking Chances

Chapter 17

Saturday morning. Bec awoke to the sound of the front door slamming shut. She was sprawled on the sofa, thhe sun was on her face, and she was still dressed in her clothes from last night. Her mouth felt as dry as a flat rock sitting in the sun next to a pool of water. Bec wanted that water more than anything right now.

She tried to move, felt sick, and closed her eyes again. Her head ached mercilessly. The sweet and sour hint of vomit caught in the back of her throat. She forced herself onto her feet and lurched across the living room to the nearest receptacle – the kitchen sink. She dry-heaved.

Bec turned on the tap and shoved her mouth under the cold stream of water. She didn't drink. She just let the water run in and out. Her hair fell into the stream of water, too. She didn't care.

After splashing water on her face, she felt a little better. The living room was a mess. Stale vomit stained the carpet next to the sofa. It looked like a mud puddle that had dried quickly after morning rain in summer.

"Jen. Jen!" Bec croaked for her sister. Jen would know what had happened last night. Bec tried to recall the events of the previous night. She remembered having a good time with Ryan. She was pretty sure he had returned her flirting. Then Bec remembered that snooty local girl, Angie, or Anna. Something like that.

"What happened next?" she asked herself, as if hearing a voice would trip the memory switch. "I went to the bar. Big guy grabbed me." The residue of fear she initially felt when she first saw Bryce bounced back and she frantically tried to piece together the next event.

"Shots!" she said a little too loudly. "That big guy must have got me drunk." She put her hand to her head to ease the headache, but her head felt crusty.

Bec rushed to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Dried blood was caked on the left side of her face. When she saw it, she stumbled backwards, slipped on the rug, and fell.

She flailed for a handhold to steady herself. Her fingers caught the towel rail, but it was no match for her downwards momentum and it ripped out of the wall. Bec fell heavily on the tiled floor. She bounced on her backside. It hurt the same as being punched.

The worse-case scenario entered Bec's mind. She added two and two and got six. Jen wasn't here. That meant they didn't come home together. Bec had a cut on her head. That meant someone struck her. A wild-looking man got her drunk. That all meant...

Her heart pounded, she could hear her pulse in her ears, and her head felt all the worse for it. Her hands shook. "Get a grip Rebecca Williams," she said.

Steeling herself, Bec pressed her hand to her lower abdomen and groin, feeling for bruising. She checked her clothing for any rips, tears, or stains. Nothing.

Momentary relief flooded through her, but the fear and shock of losing so much memory of the night overcame her. Bec curled into a ball on the bathroom floor. She pulled a bath towel close to her and sobbed gently.

"Bec! My goodness. What happened?" Jen stood in the doorway of the bathroom holding a bag of groceries. Bec looked up at her from the floor through half-open eyes. She had fallen asleep.

Jen put the bag down by the door and rushed to Bec's aid, helping her to sit up. "Oh, you stink!"

"Yeah. Thanks. Where were you?"

"Where was I? I was out getting food to cook for my drunkard sister." Jen let Bec's hand drop and raised her voice, "And what the hell happened in here? Vomit in the living room, the kitchen tap running like river, and my bathroom trashed!"

Bec put her hands on the vanity for support and turned her head to look at her sister. She felt her chest constrict and said, "You left me! I didn't know if something had happened to you. I didn't know how I got home. I didn't know if someone had – "

"Had what? Attacked me? Attacked you? I was the one who had to pull you from the taxi. Drag you into the apartment. Clean your mess. You were wasted." Jen shook her head, turned and walked out of the bathroom.

Somehow the truth always hurt more. Bec called after Jen, "What about that big guy, huh? He forced himself on me!"

Jen spun on her heels. "Bryce? He and Jerry – you do remember Jerry, don't you? Well Bryce and Jerry carried you out of Sully's and got a taxi for you. For us. Bryce even gave the driver ten bucks for our fare because he felt bad."

Bec raised her eye-brows. "Jerry? Not Ryan?"

"You really don't remember? Ryan left about the same time you started doing shots with Bryce." Jen picked up the groceries and went through to the kitchen.

Bec called out after her, "Then what happened to my head? There was blood all over me this morning."

Jen was packing food into the refrigerator and her voice sounded distant as she replied, "There was not blood all over you. I cleaned you up a bit when I got you inside." She slammed the refrigerator door shut. "You fell over on the stairs and hit your head. It was your own silly fault."

Bec looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair a tangled mess, and Jen was right, of course. There wasn't blood all over her, just a dried line of blood over the cut, which was only about a half-inch long, and was located just below her hair-line. It was backed by an angry red mark that would soon turn blue and purple. It wouldn't be the first time I've had to cover a bruise.

Bec peaked out of the bathroom. Jen was fussing in the kitchen, so Bec ran the shower. The hot water worked its magic and washed away the hang-over fog and the feelings of uncertainty.

Wrapped in a bathrobe and towel, Bec came out into the living room and was greeted with the delightful sounds and smells of sizzling food. Well, delightful if she didn't have a hangover.

"Jen, I'm not sure I can handle grease."

Her sister didn't look up from the pan. "Your fault. Not mine."

"Any coffee?"

"You know how to make it."

What to do? The living room was still a mess, so Bec started cleaning up. She bent over and picked up a blanket on the floor and her head swam.

It is my mess.

She kept going. First the floor and the dried vomit. As she cleaned, she began to feel better. She came across her back pack and thought of the bottle of vodka tucked away there.

Maybe later tonight, when the hang-over has passed.

Bec caught herself. What was she thinking? Was she really that dependent on alcohol? Did that make her an alcoholic? No vodka tonight.

Jen called out from the kitchen, "Brunch is ready!"