The Summer of '98

(7)

Cotton mouth was real and I was experiencing the worst case of it that I had ever had. I hadn't even had the courage to open my eyes. I could feel the sun pouring in from the bedroom window. I could feel the heat, I could feel the pounding in my head before I'd even moved. No part of me wanted to endure this day. I wanted to skip right over it because I would have the worst hangover to date.

A light tickle at the back of my neck startled me into a more alert state and I leaned up on an elbow, peering over my shoulder to find Leroy curled up behind me. I didn't even realise that he had an arm draped across my waist but my eyes slowly travelled our tangled state as I squinted and smacked my lips together, attempting to moisten my mouth.

As delirious as I felt, I appreciated how handsome he looked behind me. He still wore his t-shirt and jeans which I assumed was for my benefit. He was a gentleman. His hair was a mess and his lips sat parted while he breathed shallow and low. I groaned when my head began to thud even harder and without warning, the room began to spin. I quickly dropped so that I could seek refuge against the mattress but I must have wobbled as I went down, because my head collided with the side table drawer.

"Fuck!" I yelped, grabbing the side of my head as Leroy startled awake behind me. I mumbled an apology about my language as I rolled into the pillow and whimpered in pain.

He was fast, so fast because in a split second he had leaped over me and sat on the floor beside the bed, his hands clutching at my own which were holding my face. As if the headache I had before wasn't bad enough, now it felt like I was going to have to just finish off the job and knock myself out entirely.

"Ellie?" Leroy questioned with a little panic in his voice. "You hit your head?"

"You didn't hear that?" I groaned with sarcasm. "I think the neighbours heard it."

"You're bleeding a little." He wrapped a hand around me and helped me sit up. The entire time I kept my face buried in my hands. I felt like it would help with the pain. But I was also horribly ashamed of the tragic mess that I had become.

"Wait here a second."

I leaned against the bed's headboard and breathed through the immense pain that was starting to make me feel nauseous. Leroy returned a moment later and I peeked through my fingers to find him holding a first aid kit. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hair still a mess and his shirt wrinkled. But he looked beautiful nonetheless. I was sure that I must have looked like I needed rehab.

"Can you move your hands for me for a moment?"

I did as he asked and pushed back my hair in an attempt to smooth it out a little before my hands dropped into my lap. My thumbs twiddled with embarrassment as he sat a little closer and dabbed at the warm blood on my face. He was so gentle, wiping it off with a wet wipe before he put a plaster on the damage that I had done.

"Here," he handed me a fresh wipe, "for your hands."

I glanced down and noticed the little bit of blood that coated the tips of my fingers. I cleaned them up and gave him a sheepish smile. "Thanks."

He gave me a small grin and leaned over to the side table drawer where a glass of water and Advil were waiting. I sighed with appreciation as I reached for the items. But that's when the memories came flooding in and I squealed with shame, slapping a hand to the already sore forehead.

"I threw up on your mother's feet," I almost whispered, the heat in my cheeks could compare to the sun and all I wanted to do was cease to exist. "I — I — what — oh my g—"

"Els," he pressed a finger to my lips, silencing the blubbering with a small smile, "it's alright. It was just her slippers. She's got a dozen pairs. And she hated that vase. She kept it there out of respect for Dad who gave it to her. She'll probably thank you."