Intoxicated (11 page)

I awoke in my own bed. Disoriented, I sat up
and immediately wished that I hadn’t. My head pounded from a
combination of sobbing and lack of food. The blinds were drawn,
leaving the room awash in shadows and darkness. I had no idea what
time it was or how I had gotten here. I was, however, fully
clothed. Even my hooded sweatshirt remained intact, zipped modestly
over my tank.

I reached blindly for my nightstand, flipping
on the lamp once I had located it. The light hurt my eyes. I
squeezed my eyelids shut, reopening them in baby steps. I imagined
this was what a hangover felt like. I had no personal experience
with which to compare. How ironic.

As my vision cleared, I vaguely remembered
hearing voices. Undoubtedly those of Blake and Matthew. She had
come home from her date and he had still been with me on the couch.
They had spoken in hushed tones, obviously discussing how Eric had
stood me up. Then I had felt weightless, like I was floating. I
realized that Matthew had carried me up the stairs and tucked me
under the comforter.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. Even though
technically nothing had happened between us, we had spent quite an
intimate evening together. Never before had I exposed myself to
someone like that, especially not someone I had just met. Granted,
he had caught me at one of my most vulnerable moments. It was hard
to pretend that everything was okay when tears were streaming down
your face. When Eric upset me, my usual defense was to hide behind
anger, even around Gracie. For some reason this time the floodgates
had opened and Matthew was on the receiving end. Instead of turning
and running away, which I would have totally understood, he had
canceled his plans and stayed with me.

With all that remained unsaid between us, he
had sat beside me, holding me as I cried. For all he knew, I could
absolutely hate him because of his past. But he hadn’t given me the
third degree about my opinions. Instinctively, he had settled down
next to me, offering his shoulder to cry on. No one had ever done
anything that kind for me before.

My eyes slid to the nightstand again,
noticing that he had brought up my cell phone. More importantly, he
had set a full bottle of aspirin and a glass of water beside it. I
uncapped the bottle, shook out two tablets, and swallowed them
quickly. I prayed that relief would come soon. I doubted there was
anything that I could have done to deserve this pain.

Shakily, I rose from the mattress and went
into the bathroom. My reflection was hideous. My eyes were swollen
and rimmed with red, dark circles underneath. My hair stood
straight up in random tufts. I wondered what Matthew had seen when
he said I was beautiful. I hoped it wasn’t this.

I decided to take a shower in hopes that it
would make me feel better. I turned on the water, adjusting the
temperature until it was nearly scalding hot. The droplets stung my
skin when I first stepped in, but my body quickly adjusted to the
heat. I imagined my pain and worries washing down the drain along
with all the suds, wishing it was truly that easy.

When I was finished, I dried off and went in
search of another stylish ensemble to wear for my pity party.
Again, I settled on sweats, but this time with a tight fitting
t-shirt on top. As I slid on my selections, I noticed that the red
dress was missing from the floor. On a hunch, I went to my closet.
Sure enough, the offending article hung neatly in front, staring
innocently back at me. The platform shoes that matched were
displayed directly underneath.

Fresh tears threatened to spill down my
cheeks. The last time this dress hung here, I had gazed up at it
with anticipation. Now it was a reminder of an evening gone
horribly wrong. I brushed my fingers across the full skirt. Too bad
Blake and I weren’t the same size. Even though it was beautiful, I
doubted I could stomach wearing it now. I thought of Matthew,
carefully lifting it off the floor and putting it in its proper
place. Trying his hardest to clean up my mess.

With a sigh, I grabbed my cell off the
nightstand and powered it on. No time like the present to face
reality. Once it loaded to the home screen, I learned that it was
now ten in the morning. This shocked me. No wonder my head hurt; it
had been nearly twenty-four hours since I had eaten that apple. So
much for gorging at the restaurant.

Not as surprising was the fact that my phone
now contained a barrage of voice mails and texts from Eric. In our
ten years together, I couldn’t remember ever hanging up on him
before. I had either convinced him that I was really pissed, or I
had made him very mad. Perhaps a little of both.

I decided to listen to the voice mails first.
Eric did sound angry in the first couple, proclaiming that his
career was important and that these were crucial accounts he was
flying out to settle. He told me that unpredictability was part of
the job and that I should understand that by now. He admonished me
for playing the career card to go out and follow my dreams but to
not give him the same respect.

Just as I was about to delete the remaining
messages without listening, the fourth or fifth startled me with
his change in tone. This series sounded sincere, almost remorseful.
The anger had subsided, and he spoke quietly, solemnly. He
apologized and swore he would make it up to me. I imagined I should
be expecting another huge bouquet of flowers shortly.

The string of texts were all sent after the
voice mails, begging me to talk to him. Asking for my forgiveness.
Never telling me he loved me. I deleted all of them.

My indicator light still blinked even after I
cleared all of Eric’s many messages. It was then I noticed that
Matthew had also texted me. At three thirty-eight this morning.

Goodnight, sweetheart.

My breath hitched. I stood frozen in place
staring at the display. My hand trembled, nearly causing me to drop
the phone. I lowered myself to the mattress, head spinning.

I assumed the text had come through shortly
after he had left the house. For all intents and purposes, he had
spent the night here. Instead of slipping out unnoticed, he had
made sure I knew he had gone home. As if he was showing me that not
everyone in my life would abandon me. Again with the terms of
endearment that made my pulse quicken.

My growling stomach brought me back to
reality. I took a couple deep calming breaths, willing my heartbeat
to regulate. When I felt I could successfully navigate the stairs,
I rose from the bed. The pain still throbbed in my head, slightly
lessened by the effects of the aspirin, but it was tolerable. I
clutched the handrail on my way down, feeling rather wobbly.

As I passed by the kitchen table, I noticed
that the bouquet of roses Eric had sent was missing. Matthew sure
did think of everything. I was certain that if I looked in the
trashcan, I would find the blooms there, vase and all.

Blake was already up and moving about the
kitchen. She looked in way better condition than I was. She was
wearing pajama pants and a spaghetti strapped tank, her long hair
piled atop her head in a messy bun. Even bare-faced, she appeared
as if she could walk a runway at a moment’s notice.

“Hey, the dead has risen,” she announced to
no one in particular.

“Good morning to you, too,” I said, my tone
suggesting anything but.

Blake slid a plate of scrambled eggs across
the breakfast bar and motioned for me to sit down.

“You don’t cook,” I said warily, lifting my
fork and examining the eggs. Surprisingly, they looked edible
enough.

“They’re eggs. I can handle those. I figured
you’d be starving.”

She glanced knowingly at me. Her face was
full of concern, but she lowered her eyes. She had no intention of
prying, or at least not until I had a few cups of coffee in me. As
if on cue, she pushed a steaming mug in front of me.

I ate, surprised by the appetite I had.
Within minutes, the plate was clean and I was working on my second
cup of coffee. Blake stood across from me the entire time, happily
serving me. I imagined that she had already eaten long ago, judging
from the late hour. In this context, her perkiness also made sense.
She was probably functioning on five or six hours of sleep. Not too
amazing, considering she was minus my broken heart.

“How was your date last night?” I asked,
purposefully directing the conversation towards her. Anything to
stall the inevitable.

She took my empty plate and placed it in the
dishwasher with a shrug. “Okay, I guess.”

“You don’t have to downplay it because of me.
I won’t think you’re gloating.”

“No, really, it was just okay. I worked at
the shop until about seven or so. Then I met the guy for dinner at
eight. We went to a movie and then back to his place for
awhile.”

My eyebrow raised. Doing the calculations in
my head, I understood that going home with the guy had occurred
either very late last night or early this morning. There was no
need to press for further details. As my father would say, if you
were just getting to someone’s place at that time of night, you
were pretty much there for one thing only.

“Are you going to see him again?”

“Probably not.”

While she seemed unphased, I practically had
to pick my jaw back up from the counter. I couldn’t imagine that
kind of lifestyle, to give myself in that way with no commitment
whatsoever. Of course, my experiences were clouded by being only
with Eric from the tender age of sixteen on. Hell, I got flustered
when Matthew called me “gorgeous” or “sweetheart”. I was
practically a prude. Blake, on the other hand, likely got hit on
all the time.

“Is our Blake a player?” I winked, feeling a
small glimmer of amusement. I latched onto it, the first ray of
sunshine I had seen in a long time. I needed a distraction.

“Your Blake isn’t going to settle down until
she’s positive she has found the right guy. Until then, there’s
nothing wrong with having fun with some of the wrong ones.”

She laughed, though it sounded a bit hollow.
She grabbed the coffee pot and refilled my cup.

Slowly, I was beginning to feel alive. The
food, the caffeine and the aspirin were working in tandem and only
a dull roar of a headache remained. I remembered that she, too, had
dated someone exclusively for about three or four years. She had
mentioned it was a long story, and didn’t seem at all interested in
filling me in. Things must have been ugly. I wondered if maybe we
could commiserate. In due time, I hoped we could. She might be able
to provide me with much needed insight.

“You know, you could have called me,” she
said softly.

I shook my head. “No need to ruin both of our
nights.”

She reached out and took my hand. “I wouldn’t
have been mad. I want us to be friends. And if you want to talk
about it, I’m all ears.”

I managed a smile. “I don’t want to be a
bother.”

“You’ll never be a bother, Lauren. If you
haven’t noticed, I’m pretty loyal to those I care about. And for
whatever reason, you decided that even though I’m messed up, you’re
not going to move out. I respect that.”

“Everyone is messed up in their own way. I’m
no different.”

We moved into the living room and took a seat
on what was quickly becoming the sofa of difficult situations.
Blake perched on one end, curling her long legs underneath her. I
took the opposite end, my feet planted firmly on the ground.

“So, has he called you yet?” she began.

I blinked, unsure of who she was referring
to.

“Eric,” she clarified.

“Only about fifteen times or so.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“No.”

“Serves him right.”

I snorted. “He’s not used to me hanging up on
him.”

“I’m proud of you. The only thing that would
have been better is if you would have kept your reservation and
found someone else to go with. Get a full meal, appetizers, drinks,
the most expensive entrée, dessert and then send him the bill.”

“You sound like you’ve done that before.”

She smirked.

“I was in no condition to go out anyway,” I
admitted, “but I’ll keep it in mind for the next time he ditches
me.”

“This happens a lot?”

I sighed. “Not this exactly. Just last month,
I lived in Indy. I was local, and it wasn’t two hours of driving
one way to come see me. I could go see him for an hour or so if I
wanted. Sometimes, he would just stop over at my place. But most of
the time, I drove to his. Going to dinner wasn’t a special
occasion. He really does work hard, and he gets called away quite a
bit. Unexpectedly at times.”

“So unexpectedly that he didn’t have an
opportunity to call you before he got to the airport?”

“I know his timing was bad. Maybe he was
afraid of hurting me. Maybe he was trying to think of the right
thing to say.”

“Lauren, he hurt you by doing what he did.
I’m almost positive he knew about the trip Saturday morning, if not
Friday night. He should have been a man and called you then.”

“You’re right. But this whole thing is new
for us and we just need some time to adjust. He promised me that we
would make this work.”

“He also promised you he’d come and
visit.”

I stared down at my hands. Blake was right.
Eric had been at fault, and here I was defending him.

“He did tell me he was sorry,” I said
softly.

“Good. He should be. Don’t let him off so
easy. He needs to earn his way back into your good graces. From
what I heard, you were practically inconsolable last night.”

I blushed. This is why I did angry instead of
vulnerable. Anger faded with time, and everyone understood that.
When you let go of your anger, you looked like the bigger person,
able to forgive and forget. When you showed emotion and
sensitivity, people looked at you as if you were caving in when you
continued forward like nothing happened. Blake was clearly in the
latter category.