Just Friends

Chapter Sixteen

"Here," Braden says, handing me another drink. Concern stretched across his handsome face. The cut on his cheek has now dried, but a pink and purple bruise starts to settle there.

I still can't believe what just happened. The anger and rage on his face as he pinned Braden to the ground. I'm not sure I can ever forget the hatred I saw there.

A part of me panics as I look down at his hands. The dark liquid fizzes and I can only presume that it's coke with some sort of spirit. I can't accept that! And not just because I shouldn't be mixing my drinks right now.

"I can't," I begin to say, but I quickly correct myself. "I mean, I'm okay."

"Jo, it's just vodka and coke," he looks at me questioningly, bringing his own cup to his lips.

"I just can't." I can feel my heart beating rapidly and I rush out of the room to find the bathroom. I drank way too quickly. I'm not sure if the panic I feel is necessary or even justified. Just because it happened the once doesn't mean everyone is planning on slipping something in my drink.

The guilt of suspecting Braden takes over me as I struggle as I climb the stairs. From what I can tell, he's actually a nice guy, but I can't risk it. What if, next time, something worse happens?

Placing my hands on the steps in front of me, I climb each step on all fours, trying to support myself as I hope that nobody will see me.

Sure enough, the bathroom is at the top. Bright, light spills out onto the hallway and I am relieved to find that it is empty.

I push the door open and quickly lock it behind me, not wanting anybody to follow me in.

Before discarding my bag onto the floor, I dig out my phone and sit on the corner of the bathtub.

The room starts to spin a little, but I unlock my phone and focus on the screen in the efforts to ignore it. Before I know what, I'm doing I enter the number for my voicemail and hit call.

An automated message tells me that I have one saved message. It informs me, to go into greetings and mailbox settings I must press 1, 2 To listen, and 3 to delete.

I slide down into the cold floor, the space between the bath and the wall feeling cramped, yet somehow secure, safe.

I select 2 and hold the phone to my ear. Immediately the sound of shifting material and footsteps fills the speaker.

Holding the phone tighter, I rest my head on my knees and close my eyes. I'm not sure why I'm sat here, in the bathroom, listening to a stupid, meaningless voice message, instead of enjoying the party downstairs.

I zone in and out, listening to the soft noises coming through my phone.

"Hello?" The voice pauses for a moment and I hear the phone being lifted away from his ear and back again. "Jo?"

I sit up slightly, hearing my name coming from an all too familiar voice.

"Sorry, I must have called you by mistake," he continues, murmuring slow, drawing out each syllable. "I hope you're okay..."

I can feel my heart beat faster, it doesn't help the spinning room.

"Yeah," he says. "see ya later, I guess..." and with that, his voice comes to an abrupt end. I hear the automated words asking me what I want to do with the message.

Pulling my phone away, I terminate the call, needing the relief of not listening to the whining woman's voice that only seems designed to torture us.

I fumble around for a moment, looking for a name and hesitate before finally tapping the corner of the screen, causing it to ring.

"Hello?" He says. His voice clear, he sounds almost... happy? I pause, not knowing what to say. Why am I calling him again? My mind is fuzzy, unclear as I try to recall how my stupid actions got me here. I knew I shouldn't have drunk so much. I'm about to reply, falling for his unintentionally cruel joke. "Not really! You've reached my voicemail! You can leave me a message... but I probably won't listen to it."

I always hated this joke, but it never seemed so cruel until now. It's probably for the best but it doesn't ease the weight on my chest. Why did I even try to call him?

The line beeps and my mind doesn't seem to connect to my mouth as words start pouring out.

The words, I'm sure, don't make sense.

The room, suddenly too bright, seems to spin faster. I grip the phone tightly in my hand as though it would hold me to one place.

I press the red button on my phone, hopefully I didn't make too much of a fool of myself but I'm too drunk to even care. I'm too preoccupied with living my own experiences, travelling to oz in a tornado of lights and shadows.

With a quick, involuntary lurch of my body, I throw myself forward. My knees bent and my head over the toilet bowl as I am reintroduced to the drinks I now regret.

I'm not sure where I put my phone but I suppose it doesn't matter now.