Stay (Punk Luke Hemmings)

Chapter 9

My walk of shame is really more of a sprint, a mad dash to the elevator, heels hanging in my hands, eyeliner smudged, head pounding, desperate to make it back to my room on an upper floor before somebody I knew saw me.

“What made you decide you wanted to get absolutely hammered tonight?” His voice slurs, accent thick with the alcohol in his system.

“I want to forget and move on.” I reply, taking another shot lined up in front of me, the liquid thick and hot as it sears down my throat.

He laughs.

“Well, I guess this is one way to do that.” He grabs the bottle and takes a gulp before passing it back to me.

Every ding of the elevator on a floor that isn’t mine makes me nervous. With every opening of the shiny gold doors, someone could see me, could see me hungover and with messy hair, and they’d immediately jump to conclusions. It was a safer option than taking the stairs though, as Luke usually took the stairs when he went downstairs to work out in the mornings.

Its funny that I even care if he saw me. The whole point of last night was to get over him.

The shoes shake in my hands, and I don’t know where my phone is.

My laugh is too loud, but he doesn’t seem to notice, laughing just as hard as I am.

“And you just pulled him into the pool? I’m trying to imagine the look on his face when you do that, getting pulled in by someone so much shorter than him. Must have been a big blow to his ego.”

I stop laughing long enough to take a sip of the liquor we’ve started passing between us, all thoughts of glasses long gone.

“He deserved it!” I giggle.

“Jesus, Andy, if it had been anyone other than you, there would probably a dead body floating in that pool.”

Snorting, I take another gulp, the searing of the alcohol down my throat a welcome distraction.

He looks incredulously at me. “No, I’m dead serious, Luke’s a cool guy and everything, but he has such a short fuse. You should have seen him on the first tour, he almost got arrested for beating up a sound technician who asked him about you.”

“Stop, I don’t want to hear about this. I just want to get drunk.”

“Fine with me. Did he see your tattoo?” He asks slyly, poking my side.

“You promised never to bring it up, you’re not even supposed to know, you asshole, you just don’t know how to knock.”

“You should’ve locked the door, how was I supposed to know you were half naked back there?” He starts laughing again, eyes squinting shut as he roars.

“Common sense, you idiot. I was changing.”

He laughs again, throwing his arm around me. “It was a sight worth seeing though.”

Why the hell did my floor have to be so far up and why the hell were so many people awake at 7 am on a weekend who needed to use the damn elevator?

Around the eleventh floor, some elderly woman walk in with me, pearls draped around their necks and scowls of disapproval on their faces as they take in my state of being, huddled into a corner as if nobody will notice. A little girl follows them, her grandma shuffling in front of me to block her view of me. I still smile at her, and she still smiles back, not caring that I probably just ruined a lot of things last night.