I quickly close the door and try the next one. I hit the light switch on the first try this time and am pleased to see that it’s a bathroom—the most disgusting bathroom I think I’ve ever seen. Dirty towels and clothes line the floor. There is an array of toiletries covering the counter. The toilet seat is already up, exposing a pee-stained toilet, but I don’t have time to find a different bathroom. I run to the toilet just as the contents of my stomach make their way back up .
I vomit again and again until I’m sure every drop of alcohol has come back up .
“I’m never drinking again,” I mumble to myself as I collapse back against the wall while my stomach tries to settle itself .
I sit on the floor for several seconds, unable to move. I hear a door creak, and I expect to see Brent running in to check on me, but he never comes. Throwing up in a guy’s apartment isn’t like the movies. No one held my hair back and cleaned me up when I was done. I’m on my own .
I walk slowly back to the living room to see if Brent will call me a cab. When I walk in, I see him passed out on the couch. I look back down the hallway, hoping to see his roommate who caused the door to creak. But I don’t see anyone, and I’m not going to go searching for him. I find my clutch lying on the floor, next to the couch. I open it, but my phone isn’t in there. Scarlett kept it .
I could wake up Brent, but I choose not to. Instead, I curl up on the love seat and go to sleep. It’s the only thing my body can manage after a night like this. I don’t think about Brent. I don’t think about how Scarlett got me into this mess. I don’t think about how I’m supposed to call my father. I just sleep .
“H ey, you need to wake up,” a man says as he tries to shake me awake .
I stir slowly, sure that it is a dream since I don’t recognize the voice .
“Wake up,” the same voice says again .
I open my eyes and find the prettiest shade of blue twinkling back at me. I smile. I can’t help it. Whoever this person is can’t be bad. I try to sit up, but I am immediately attacked with symptoms—headache, nausea, and dizziness. I close my eyes and lie back down. I try to remember what happened .
Alcohol, lots of alcohol—that’s what happened .
I open my eyes and sit up more slowly this time. Brent is no longer standing over me. He has moved to the kitchen and is pouring a glass of water. My mouth begins watering at the sight. I watch as he drinks down the glass instead of offering me a drink .
I sigh. What did I expect from a man who passed out rather than making sure I was still alive and breathing after I’d run to his bathroom ?
“I figured you would be gone by now,” he says .
I smile weakly. I know that’s just talk for, Please leave now .
“I need to borrow your phone to call a cab. I…” I don’t want to explain that Scarlett took my phone. “I lost mine,” I say instead .
He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and tosses me his phone. I call for a cab, and it will be here in five minutes. I stand from the couch and feel the cricks in my neck and back from sleeping on the small love seat. I should book a massage for later. I grab my shoes, not bothering to put them on, and hand Brent his phone before walking myself to the door. I pause at the door, waiting for him to open it for me, to ask for my number…anything .
He doesn’t. Instead, his focus is now on his phone .
I open his door and pause again, waiting for him to say anything .
Nothing.
“I guess I’ll see you around sometime .”
/> “Yeah, see you around,” he says without glancing up from his phone .
I sigh as I walk out of his apartment. I thought the guy had potential. I thought he was a nice guy who could at least give me one good night of passion. I wasn’t expecting love. I wasn’t expecting even much more than one night, but I thought we could at least have one enjoyable night together. I was wrong .
I tried Scarlett’s little experiment. I did what normal college kids did. I got drunk and attempted to have a one-night stand. It sucked. I’d liked my life before—when I did whatever my family had asked of me. That was more enjoyable than this .
“Where the hell have you been?” I hear as soon as I walk into my apartment .
I smile. “Good morning .”
“Don’t good morning me. I have been worried sick and trying to fend off your family all fucking night. Where the hell where you?” Scarlett says .
I ignore her and walk to my closet to put my shoes back in their correct place. I slip off the crop top and pull on a comfy T-shirt instead. Scarlett storms in before I’ve even finished changing .
“Well?” she asks again. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her foot is tapping slowly on the hard floor as she waits for my answer .
“I was with Brent .”