The lady in Red (REWRITTEN!)

Chapter 13

Five drinks. I had five drinks in total, all mixed and never the same. This probably wasn't the best idea because everyone knew mixing drinks only created chaos in the body. And I was definitely feeling it now—the intoxication. I was most definitely inebriated. I mingled with people, danced with some, even went from the "VIP section" to the normal people's section—and still, it wasn't enough. The dress was attracting a lot of people but not the one I was hoping for. Maybe because he hadn't even seen me yet. Which gave me an idea. Bless the alcohol's courage, I had to go upstairs.

It was a struggle, walking straight lines without tumbling. I manage to walk back to the VIP section where the bartender was. He watches me struggle in my seat and after I manage to plop my ass down correctly, he chuckles. I raised my finger for a drink but before I could even slur anything out, he stops me.

"No more drinks for you."

"Well, actually, kind sir...I just wanted...wa--water." I giggle, because...God, knows why. Anything I did or said made absolutely no sense. The water made sense. I had to give my poor brain that much credibility. The bartender nods before walking off and then coming back with a glass of water in seconds. Within milliseconds, I was chugging the whole thing down.

"You think this will help me walk straight?" I ask, lifting the empty glass up and turning it upside down. The bartender grabs the cup before it slips from my hand.

"You need a lot more than just a cup of water. No need to walk. Just relax here or...go home."

"Home? Oh, no. No, no, no. Not yet. I need to go...up there," I slur, pointing up, towards the room. His eyes follow my direction.

"Why?"

"Why? Because...because I need him to see me first. He hasn't seen me yet. After that...I'll go home." I start to stand but the alcohol has done so much damage that I fall back against the seat. The bartender leans forward quickly to guide me back to the seat, safely. Well, shit.

"Two things. Drink lots of water or you can eat crackers to soak it up," The bartender starts. I look at him with blurred vision.

"Second thing?"

"Throw up." Vomit? Oh, no. Not again. I'm trying to disintegrate the title of "vomit girl" forever! This won't do. If I'm going to do this then I will have to do this quick, like a quick peel of Band-Aid. I get up despite the bartender's command to sit and continue to walk towards the staircase. Why don't they have an elevator here? Is there an elevator here to begin with? How do they get up there?

It's another grand struggle going up the stairs without tumbling over or downwards. I dare not to look down or behind me as I grab onto the rails of the staircase as support to climb up. I will never drink again, I swear. I manage to get upstairs in one piece but a sudden overwhelming urge to vomit brews into my belly, threatening to spill from my mouth like an overheated, angry volcano. Perspiration slithers down my back and my hair sticks to my skin like glue. Just a couple more feet and I'll be by the room.

This is so unprofessional of me. How do I always end up doing things I tell myself not to do? It's like I have a hard time listening to my own mind, always doing the opposite of what my brain tells me to do. This man has every right to fire me. When I get to the door, barely in one piece, I force myself to stand up straight, stiff, and professionally. I put on my best façade of normalcy and knock on the door. I'd think that because the music is so loud downstairs, they'd have a hard time hearing the knock, but no. Within seconds, the door flies open. It's a man I don't recognize that opens the door but ignoring his lingering gaze, I step inside in one quick straight line. The men in the room paused, drink in midair, and look at me. I ignore them all, including Mr. Ouishi, and look directly at Reece.

It's his lethal gaze that prompts me to shift back a little. My body tightens in response to his gaze and it starts to have me thinking. Was this a bad timing? His eyes zero in on me and a visible tightening of this jaw almost makes me lose the façade. His pupils dilate, and his fingers tighten on the glass of whiskey he's holding on to. Another flex of his fingers and I swear the glass will shatter into pieces. Oh no. He can tell I'm drunk. Shit. My throat constricts and I almost choke on my own saliva. His eyes finally rake down my body, drinking in the skin-tight dress, and my figure. I almost lose my balance and fall forward from his sharp gaze but somehow, I manage to keep upright. My thighs clench tightly together as my vagina throbs painfully.

Funny. A couple of days ago, I would have never imagined myself saying that word out loud in my head, let alone even think about it. Now I had every right to because every time he looked at me, my vagina throbbed. But, he was mad. Like really mad. I expected him to somehow look at me and be mesmerized but the case was different here. He wasn't looking at me like he wanted to kiss me. He wasn't even looking at me like he liked what he saw. A strange pang hits my heart, so heavy that my knees buckle and I almost give out.

"Did you need anything, Mr. Dean? Just checking on you." I manage to say, fighting so hard to stop swaying. His jaw clenches. Shit.

"No," he sharply responds, hitting a straight arrow into my heart. Well then. I better get out of here quickly. I nod, before turning to walk out of the room. Mr. Ouishi stops me before I can even make it out completely.

"You look very nice, Ms. White." His comment stirs strings in my heart and I sadly smile at him in gratitude. Not the person I wanted a response out of here but hey—at least someone notices me. I walk away in shame but after a couple of feet later, I'm bolting straight to the bathroom. I make it to the toilet and there it all goes, the alcohol out of my system. I vomited multiple times in one seating until tears are leaking out of my eyes. I pull back and fall back against the stall's door, chest heaving.

"If you ever drink again, I am going to kill you!" I say to myself, out loud. I sit against the door for a couple of minutes before standing up. I feel better but not as better as I want. I walk straight towards the mirrors and groan audibly. This couldn't get any worse. My hair was sticking to my face, and mascara was running down my eyes. My lipstick was nonexistent, and my eyes were bloodshot red from the pressure of throwing up. And I probably, no...most definitely smelled like vomit. But, thankfully there were amenities here to fix that.

Toothbrushes, paste, cotton balls, gums, mints, even menstrual pads were scattered neatly by the sink. I thank heaven silently and pick up the toothbrush. This was definitely one way of getting rid of the smell from my mouth. After brushing, and rinsing my mouth, I went after my mascara stained cheeks. Afterward, I plop a mint into my mouth and crush it between my teeth before swallowing. I looked visibly better now.

"Get it together," I scold myself. I do a backward glance back at my reflection in the mirror and sigh. At least I look a whole lot normal now. With a heavy heart, I open the door. I jump back immediately, startled by the person in front of me. My eyes widen and at the same moment, his jaw clicks and tightens. My fingers gradually start to slip from the handle of the door until my hands are back down where they are supposed to be. I swallow a dry lump down my throat and force myself to stand stiff and still, but in vain.

"Mr. Dean."