The Garavaglias

Chapter 7

           

I was hungover. My head was pounding so hard it made my eyes burn, I had to scurry across my room to avoid the sunlight streaming through my window. I ruffled around in the bathroom cabinet trying to find something to take the edge off. Once I'd found some Advil I chugged tons of water, which only made me want to puke. Eggs, I thought to myself, I need to make eggs. Eggs had always been my go to hangover food, and I had to be cured fast because Beau would probably be here in about an hour. To my dismay, I had to forgotten to get groceries, again. Sometimes I am my worst enemy. I groaned and scuffled back upstairs quickly looking for something to wear. I muttered to myself while throwing clothes everywhere and sipping a generous amount of water.

I had finally settled on wearing a black fitted dress with black kitten heels. I sighed smoothing out my dress as I stood in the bathroom mirror trying to decide what to do with my hair. I looked awful. Dark circles engulfed my under eye and my skin was a sickly pale shade. I patted some concealer under my eyes and blotted powder on the rest of my face. After sweeping on a few coats of mascara and dabbing my cheeks in blush I looked somewhat presentable. I also slightly resembled a corpse prepared for an open casket ceremony. I decided on pulling my hair back into a sleek ponytail. I was rummaging in my purse for Chapstick when I heard my phone ding. It was a text from Beau; 'I'm outside'. I shoved my phone into my purse and ran to the front door. Bad idea. My stomach gurgled and my mouth began to water, I stopped feeling vomit creep up my throat. I stopped and took a few shallow breaths forcing the vomit back down and opted for grabbing another water bottle on my way out. Beau was waiting for me in a black Mercedes, I wondered if he had cars for all of his emotions and special events. I hopped into the passenger side quickly and gulped some more water.

"You look like shit." He stated, smirking.

"Thanks." I replied, flipping him off.

"Hey you have to be nice to me, I'm technically grieving." He said, pulling out on to the busy street.

"You're right. How are you?" I asked, sipping more water. He went over a small bump that made my mouth water, I took a deep breath and gulped more water.

"Well I'm not hungover," he raised an eyebrow at me, "but I'm good, just ready to get this over with. So basically I give a speech and say a few words about my father, then we have a little social, then brunch. Sound okay?" He asked, speeding up through a red light. I gave him a thumbs up, before covering my mouth, in fear of ruining his beautiful interior. "You drive like a fucking psychopath." I stated holding the cold water bottle to my forehead.

"I am a psychopath, baby." He winked and sped through another red light.

"You should really see my therapist." I replied fanning my face. Why was it so goddamn hot in here.

"Is she hot?" He asked, noticing my discomfort and turning on the air. I breathed a sigh of relief when the cool air hit my face. "Jesus, how much did you drink last night?" He asked.

"Too much."

"The bathrooms are the first door on the left." He said laughing. I flipped him off again. I studied Beau as he drove, mostly to take my mind off of puking but also because he looked so hot with his navy blue suit that was fitted to perfection, props to his tailor. I would swoon if I wasn't so nauseous. He gave me a quick glance.

"I like your dress, and stop staring at me." He chuckled scratching his neat beard. That was what did it for me, I looked away, my middle throbbing.

"Thank you." I muttered trying to simultaneously control my gag reflux and my hormones. He reached over and placed his hand on my thigh gripping softly. I shivered, he knew exactly what he was doing.